


Queen of Hearts

by DiNovia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiNovia/pseuds/DiNovia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven of Nine asks B'Elanna Torres for personal assistance.  Never knowing the perfect Borg to need assistance of any kind, B'Elanna is intrigued and agrees.  What she discovers changes everything she thought she knew--about Seven, about herself, and about life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisaof9](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lisaof9).



> When I wrote this, we did not have canon spellings for the Borg children's names. Mine differ from canon for that reason and I left them as I wrote them because I prefer my spellings. 
> 
> Also, the infant that mysteriously disappeared canonically plays a major part in this story. At the time, VJB--my B/7 mailing list--was very concerned about what had happened to her. This story was my response to the question.

B'Elanna Torres, chief engineer of the _USS Voyager_ , chased what looked to be a flat pasta noodle around her plate, feeling conspicuously alone for the first time in months.  
  
When Tom Paris, her on again/off again lover, had come to her six months ago and said that he didn't think their relationship was working out, her reaction had been one of surprise and relief. Surprise that Tom would have the presence of mind to realize that there was something fundamentally lacking in their relationship and relief that he had broken it off with her before she had the chance to break it off with him. They were still friends, which she supposed was a surprise to everyone on board, but that fact had made for an almost benign transition from couple to single status. Well, benign except for the loneliness that was creeping back into her life.

The young woman shook that particular thought from her head. Loneliness was not a Klingon's emotion and it frustrated her. She tried, instead, to focus on her dinner—which was a battle in and of itself.  
  
All in all, the break-up hadn't been that bad. In fact, she realized her only real regret was that she had used so many replicator rations on that stupid TV she had constructed for the ensign. If she had known Tom was going to break up with her a week after she'd given it to him, she would have saved the ration strips for something more useful.  
  
_Like edible food_ , she thought, scowling down at her plate.

_"Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Torres."_

B'Elanna sighed heavily and put her fork down. It was bad enough that most of the crew had gone off to Fair Haven for the evening, leaving her to manage Neelix's version of lasagna by herself. Now the drone wanted to talk to her. She tapped her communicator.

"Torres here."

_"Lieutenant…B'Elanna. I require your assistance. Are you available to come to Cargo Bay 2?"_

B'Elanna's immediate response was to say "Thanks, but no thanks!" but there was something in Seven's voice that caught her attention. Not to mention she couldn't ever remember Seven referring to her by her first name. Or, for that matter, asking instead of ordering.

"Um…sure, Seven. I'll be there in five minutes, okay?"

_"Thank you, B'Elanna."_

The comm channel closed.

 _'Thank you, B'Elanna'?!_ B'Elanna Torres sat stunned at her table in the mess hall. _The drone said 'thank you'. What is the Universe coming to?_

* * *

All the way down to the cargo bay, B'Elanna wondered what sort of assistance Seven could possibly need. The Borg, after all, was the most intelligent, most capable being on the entire ship. She didn't need assistance very often…unless…

_Oh god, no._

B'Elanna closed her eyes and hoped against all hope that this 'assistance' didn't involve the new Borglings that had been on board for about two months now. The last thing she wanted to do was Borg-sit.  
  
She stepped off the turbolift with a faint smirk, thinking about the stories she'd heard about Seven's lack of maternal skills. She nearly laughed out loud when she recalled Chakotay's tale of a comprehensive, minute-by-minute schedule for the children—Seven's first attempt in managing this new role. According to Neelix, it hadn't worked very well.

 _But you can't keep a good Borg down,_ she thought wryly, wondering what other techniques Seven had researched and experimented with. All accounts now held the children as well adjusted, pleasant, and eager to learn. And although her own interactions with them were few in number, she did remember polite questions and advanced technical knowledge, both of which had impressed her. Klingon children, as a rule, weren't known for either.

B'Elanna turned a corner in the corridor and nearly ran into iCheb, the eldest of the young Borg.  
  
"Pardon me, Lieutenant," he said politely, the corners of his mouth curling with the warmth of a smile. "I was not minding my way."  
  
"Uh...no problem, iCheb. That's right, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes. My name is iCheb. It was my father's second name."  
  
There was something about these Borg children that both unnerved B'Elanna and tugged at her hearts, though she would never admit it. But they did seem to remind her of herself...half-bred and finding it difficult to fit in. However, the children did seem to be having an easier time reclaiming their pre-assimilation lives than Seven had. Maybe that old wives' tale about the resiliency of youth really was true. Or maybe it was just because the children had not completed the maturation chamber cycle. Whatever the reason for it, B'Elanna was strangely comforted by their ability to express emotion.  
  
"It's a nice name," she replied cautiously, not quite knowing where the conversation was headed but hesitant to be rude.  
  
"I like it," said the teen matter-of-factly. "Seven says it suits me." He cocked his head in a manner reminiscent of Seven and added, "I am on my way to the mess hall to have my evening meal. I missed the appointed time because I preferred to continue studying. Can I get you anything from the mess hall, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Uh...no…thanks," said B'Elanna, trying hard not to seem like she had just learned how to speak. "I just finished dinner."  
  
"Very well. I believe Seven requested your assistance. I should not detain you any further. Have a pleasant evening, Lieutenant." The teen nodded and turned the corner, heading towards the turbolift.  
  
"You too," mumbled the engineer, shaking her head slightly. The whole conversation was weird. Weird and yet familiar. She shook her head again and finished her trek to the cargo bay doors, triggering them to open and stepping into what she expected to be the cavernous chill of a storage facility/Borg alcove. Instead, she found something very, very different.  
  
Half of the cargo bay had been cordoned off with what appeared to be the type of wall plates usually reserved for creating temporary quarters in large bays when a ship's crew compliment exceeded maximum. Cargo storage continued to be the main focus outside the temporary wall plates, but inside them, the world was not strictly Borg.  
  
The cargo bay deck plating within the walls was now carpeted in a muted bluish-green pattern that complimented the green glow coming from the power modulation monitors over each of the alcoves. A set of smaller, child-sized workstations took up one corner of the room, surrounding a portable viewscreen that was mounted on the far wall. A play area, complete with storage shelves, toys, and brightly-colored pillows took up another area while a set of five storage compartments, four of them sporting colorful signs noting the name of the child to which it belonged, took up the section of wall between the two areas.  
  
_This is surreal_ , thought B'Elanna. _But Voyager is the only place in the entire Universe where a Borg daycare center would seem normal._  
  
Her concept of normal, however, spun wildly in the next second when her eyes completed the survey of the new room. In the furthest corner, closest to the alcoves, sat the most amazing thing of all.

An antique rocking chair.  
  
The chair, in and of itself, might not have startled B'Elanna so profoundly if Seven hadn't been in it the first time she laid eyes on it. But there she sat, hair unpinned from its usual severe style to fall around her shoulders in gentle, golden waves. She cradled the female Borg infant in her arms, singing softly as she rocked. The other children, including a visiting Naomi Wildman, were playing kadis-kot quietly in the play area, careful not to disturb Seven or the baby.  
  
Mizati, the young Norkadian, looked up and saw B'Elanna standing in the doorway. Since she was only a spectator for the current match of kadis-kot—Ixan was busy trying to outwit Naomi as his twin, Rebi, and she looked on—she rose and strode quickly to their visitor.  
  
"Lieutenant Torres?" she asked. When B'Elanna didn't immediately respond, Mizati followed the older woman's gaze...and smiled.  
  
"Do you look at Seven that way because you believe she is beautiful?" she asked innocently.  
  
B'Elanna felt herself flush mauve, startled that the child had been able to see that particular thought as it had crossed her features. She looked down, prepared to say something—anything—but found herself further discomfited by something the child carried. It seemed to be a single playing card from a deck used in the playing of poker. The little girl clutched it with the same unconscious affection another child would a beloved doll or a security blanket. B'Elanna could only just make out the suit of hearts in the corner.  
  
"I...uh..."  
  
"Forgive me, Lieutenant. I have forgotten lesson 2A, Proper Greetings and Welcomes. Please come in."  
  
"Thanks." B'Elanna tried not to roll her eyes at herself. She wondered if she would ever use multi-syllabic words again.  
  
"Seven? Lieutenant Torres is here."  
  
B'Elanna noticed that the little girl said "Seven" in a way that made the name seem like it wasn't strictly a designation. Somehow she had managed to touch the name with warmth and trust. Seven stopped singing and looked up.  
  
"Thank you, Mizati," she said to the girl. "Return to your recreational activities now. It will be time to regenerate soon."  
  
Mizati reached out and touched Seven's hand where it rested on the baby's belly. "Yes, Seven," she said softly, then turned and rejoined her playmates.  
  
"Thank you for agreeing to assist me, B'Elanna," said Seven, turning her eyes to the engineer. "I appreciate your...kindness."  
  
"No problem, Seven," said B'Elanna carefully. "What exactly can I help you with?"  
  
The baby stirred slightly and made a small sound of frustration. B'Elanna's eyes darted to the child. Growing up on Qo'noS as the only child of a mixed marriage had given the young woman little exposure to children. Even if she had desired a playmate or sibling, she knew better than to hope for one. Later, when she was old enough to begin planning for the possibility of marriage and family, B'Elanna had openly rebelled, despising the traditional Way of the Klingon and vowing she would never put a child through that. Now, though…looking at the helpless being that had been through more in her short life than anyone deserved, B'Elanna felt the unexpected ache of wanting to hold the child in her arms. Apparently Mizati wasn't the only one with a keen eye where her emotions were concerned.  
  
"Would you like to hold the infant?" asked Seven.

B'Elanna simply blinked and the ex-Borg accepted her hesitance as a willingness to comply. She stood and gently placed the baby in the stunned engineer's arms. The child whimpered and the Klingon froze, looking as if she couldn't decide whether to comfort her or push her away.  
  
"You have never held an infant before," said Seven in a vaguely disapproving tone. She carefully adjusted the cradle of B'Elanna's arms so that maximum support, comfort, and safety could be achieved.  
  
"Oh and I guess it's something you do often?" retorted the Klingon, regretting her sarcastic tone as soon as it came out of her mouth. Although typical of her interaction with the drone, she suddenly felt that it was completely inappropriate. She consciously chose to avoid wondering why she suddenly felt that way.  
  
"Actually, Lieutenant," said Seven, her voice going very cold, "the frequency with which I hold this infant is precisely why I have requested your assistance. However," she continued, reaching for the baby, "if you feel you cannot—"  
  
"Hold on just a minute!" said B'Elanna, curling her body away from Seven and clutching the baby closer. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you!" The baby squirmed in her arms and she looked down, taking a deep breath. The anger in her eyes melted cleanly away, leaving her with a contrite expression. "I didn't mean that to sound so sarcastic, Seven. I'm just not used to seeing a Borg holding a baby." She glanced back at Seven, a wry grin tugging at her lips. "I'm not used to seeing _me_ holding a baby."  
  
There was a slight pause and then Seven's ice melted too. "Apology accepted. It is...possible that the unusual levels of fatigue I am feeling are contributing to the alterations in my mood."  
  
A look of concern planted itself firmly into B'Elanna's features. "'Unusual levels of fatigue'? What does that mean?"  
  
"I am afraid I have discovered that the most efficient solution to a problem is not always the correct solution. Because the infant still requires regeneration due to implants that remain, I have been cradling her in my arms during my own regeneration period. I reformulated my assimilation tubules into transfer conduits in order to provide her with the correct amount of energy. However, I did not take into consideration the weight variations of this infant or the drain on my own energy reserves. While the infant thrives, I do not. My personal efficiency has been compromised by 21.37%."  
  
B'Elanna could hardly believe what she was hearing. "You HOLD her for the entire 6-hour regeneration cycle?"  
  
"In actuality, I hold the infant for the entire 7.75-hour regeneration cycle. I found that extending the cycle by 105 minutes created the most efficient replenishment of energy for the infant."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." B'Elanna shook her head. "Before we go any further with this discussion—and we will go further with it—I want to know something. Why do you keep calling her 'this infant' or 'the child'? Doesn't she have a name?"  
  
Seven colored slightly and averted her eyes. "I have been...unable to provide a proper designation for the child. I did not think a Borg numerical designation was appropriate and yet I cannot seem to find a name that suits her." She glanced over at the other children who were still playing happily on the floor. "Unlike the others, the infant's assimilation file did not include a name. She was only three weeks old when she was...taken by the Borg."  
  
"Did it include the names of her parents, maybe? Or her species?"  
  
"She was taken from a medical facility aboard a small ship. The names of her parents are not known. Her genetic origin is listed as species 34115, Raadamani. It is a species the Borg apparently encountered after I was severed from the Collective, as I know very little about them. _Voyager_ has yet to encounter them."  
  
"Never say never." B'Elanna smirked and shifted the baby girl to one arm, tapping her commbadge. "Torres to Neelix."  
  
_"Neelix here, Lieutenant. What can I do for you this evening?"_ Neelix's perpetual smile was one of the few emotions that came clearly through the ship's communications system.  
  
"Have you ever encountered a species known as the Raadamani?"  
  
_"The Wanderers? Of course, Lieutenant. They were one of the most renowned species of trade merchants in the Delta Quadrant. It was once rumored that their population exceeded 5 billion. Quite a number for a people without a planet, don't you think?"_  
  
"Where can we find these Wanderers now, Neelix?"  
  
_"Oh, Lieutenant, I think finding the Raadamani would be very difficult. About 25 years ago many of the Raadamani disappeared, never to be heard from again. Very mysterious. The last time I even came into contact with a Raadamani ship was about 14 years ago. Only five mated pairs in their pod. And no children. It was very sad. But their reputation as the most honorable of merchant traders was still intact. Cheating a customer is punishable by death in the Raadamani culture."_

"The Ferengi would choke on their latinum if they heard that," said the engineer wryly. "Thanks for your help anyway, Neelix."

Neelix's smile of pride was palpably brighter though the women could not see it.

 _"Any time, Lieutenant. Pardon my curiosity, but where have you heard of the Raadamani?"_  
  
"You know the baby we have on board? According to her assimilation file she is Raadamani. But there is no record of her name or her parents' names. We were hoping to find out a little about her culture since the data nodes aboard the cube were destroyed."  
  
_"A Raadamani child? How wonderful! I am sure Naomi would share her book of Raadamani galactic legends with you if you asked. I acquired the book some time ago and thought it would make a nice gift for Voyager's first baby."  
_  
B'Elanna smiled. She had a great deal of respect and affection for the Talaxian despite his diminutive size and complete lack of aggressive tendencies. She often wondered if it was exactly those reasons why she liked him so. He was as far away from the Klingon ideal as was possible and yet he had a strength about him that she did not always feel inside herself. She sometimes envied him that.  
  
"Thanks, Neelix. Torres out."  
  
Seven had already called Naomi over and was speaking softly to her. In the next instant, Naomi beamed a bright smile, nodded, and practically skipped out of the cargo bay.  
  
"I'll be right back!" she called as the doors shut behind her.  
  
"She will comply," announced Seven, nodding with approval. B'Elanna almost rolled her eyes.  
  
"Seven," she said gently. "Naomi would jump out an airlock if you asked her to. Everyone knows that."  
  
Seven frowned. "I do not understand. Why would I want her to 'jump out an airlock'? That would be most…unhealthy for her."  
  
"What I meant was," said the Klingon patiently as she jostled the baby girl currently wiggling for all she was worth, "that Naomi and Mizati and the others all look up to you. They adore you. Anyone can see that."

Something bright in Seven's eyes seemed to retreat. Quickly. "You are mistaken," she said evenly.  
  
B'Elanna knew better than to argue. Her Klingon blood scented the thin trickle of fear suddenly pouring off the ex-Borg and she knew Seven might completely shut down if she pressed the point. She didn't want that.

Making use of rusty diplomatic skills, she instead opted to change the subject.  
  
"So," she said, shattering the awkward silence. "While we're waiting for Naomi, why don't you tell me what you wanted my help with? Something about this be'Hom's regeneration cycle?"

Seven graciously took the offered out, thankful that the engineer had had the presence of mind to alter the topic of their conversation. She turned and retrieved a PADD from her own workstation.

"There are cases aboard Borg ships when an infant drone needs more specialized medical treatment than can be achieved in his or her maturation chamber," she began, handing the PADD to B'Elanna. The engineer deftly juggled her hold on the baby and accessed the data contained in the device…something Seven noted with some surprise. "In those instances," she continued, "the child is transported to an incubation chamber while he or she receives treatment. The specifications of that type of chamber…inspired a solution to our dilemma. However, I will need your assistance."

Seven waited patiently as B'Elanna paged through her proposal. She watched as the Klingon unconsciously bounced the infant when she became restless, absently gurgled to her when she became vocally expressive, and quickly moved the PADD out of the range of grasping fingers, all while maintaining the air of someone completely oblivious to the smaller creature. Her eyes never once left the streams of data on the small screen and yet Seven was sure the majority of her instinctual awareness rested with the child. It was fascinating to watch...particularly since B'Elanna had seemed so hesitant and timid with the baby initially.

"This is brilliant, Seven," said B'Elanna as she scanned the final pages of the report. "And completely feasible." She looked up then and handed the PADD back. "But honestly, it's a low-priority project. I don't know how many of my  
people—"  
  
"In truth, Lieutenant," said Seven, interrupting the engineer, "I anticipated the project's low-priority status. I am not requesting the Engineering department's assistance with the chamber. I require only your assistance...if you are willing."  
  
"Oh." B'Elanna tried to hide her surprise but failed. It was no secret on board _Voyager_ that she and the ex-Borg shared a fairly contentious working relationship. She had no expectations of Seven specifically preferring her assistance. In fact, she'd expected exactly the opposite. "Uh...sure. I have some extra time after my duty shift most nights. Would that be okay? I mean, it's gonna take longer to finish that way but you've done most of the hard work already." She indicated the specifications. "All that's really left is construction and testing."  
  
"If it is not an imposition, that would be...acceptable."  
  
The awkward silence that descended again around the two women had a short life, dismissed by the sudden and breathless return of Naomi Wildman. She waved the tome of legends in her hands and bounded over to her friend and mentor, eager to please.  
  
"I found it, Seven! It was under my workstation in the corner of my room." She handed the metal-plated book to the ex-Borg who opened it with interest.

From an anthropological standpoint, the book told her much about the Raadamani, even if she could not translate the language in which it was written. For instance, a species with no home planet had to find and maintain alternate resources for raw materials used in the construction of the various staples of their existence. Raadamani books, therefore, had pages made from thin sheets of metal with images seared into small translucent plaques and imbedded into the pages themselves. The written language seemed to stem from mathematical and physics foundations and Seven was sure she would have no problem translating the book if given enough time to 'crack the code'. However, she had a more efficient solution.  
  
"Children!" Her infinitely calm voice rang out suddenly in the cargo bay. Mizati and the twins looked up from their latest game and quickly abandoned it in favor of Seven's summons.  
  
"Yes, Seven?" asked Mizati.  
  
A strange hierarchy had developed between the four Borg children where iCheb was universally recognized as the First and Mizati—though younger than the twins—was recognized as the Second. Seven assumed that had been decided on the basis of Mizati's natural social ease. The twins, Ixan and Rebi, were much quieter and much more content to follow rather than to lead. They did not seem to resent their function in the group.  
  
"Do you recognize this language?" Seven held the book up for them.  
  
"It is the language of species 34115," said Ixan.  
  
"The Raadamani," chimed in Rebi.

"A nomadic, space-faring species of limited numbers," added Mizati.  
  
The complete lack of intonation in the children's voices chilled B'Elanna to the bone. Naomi, unaccustomed to her playmates' Borg personalities, stepped closer to Seven in an unconscious gesture of discomfort. Even Seven of Nine frowned, clearly displeased.  
  
"The Borg analysis of this species is irrelevant," she told them. "I require your assistance in translating this collection of Raadamani legends. Will you assist me?"  
  
Ixan and Rebi looked at each other and smiled with anticipation of the project—but said nothing. Mizati, on the other hand, was not at all shy about her willingness to comply.  
  
"Of course, Seven! That sounds like..." The little girl tilted her head as she searched for the proper word.

"Fun."  
  
Seven nodded and handed the book to Naomi. "You may begin tonight before your regeneration cycles. Naomi will assist you since the collection belongs to her. She is also a skilled artist and can be of assistance with illustrations."

Naomi beamed at the unexpected compliment and the group of children hurried over to their workstations, eager to get as much done on the project as they could before Naomi had to go home and Seven made them regenerate. B'Elanna watched them for a moment, stunned by the sudden shift in their personalities. Except for the occasional glint of silver on their skin, it was now completely impossible to tell that they had been Borg at all.

"Lieutenant?"

B'Elanna turned and found Seven watching her intently.

"Oh. Sorry about that." She carefully handed the infant back to Seven. "I should go now. Before the kids go to…um…regenerate. You wanna get started on this Borg bassinet tomorrow? I could come down after dinner. Say 1900 hours?"

"Acceptable," said Seven with a nod.  


* * *

  
  
On the fifth evening of helping to construct the bassinet, B'Elanna Torres glanced up from calibrating the energy transfer manifold and found herself stunned motionless by the sight before her. The children had apparently completed another translation from the Raadamani legends book and this time, instead of simply illustrating it on paper or with holograms, Naomi had decided to include all of the children in a performance of the story. They had been rehearsing in stage whispers for some time and now apparently they were ready for the final performance. Their audience? Seven and the baby.  
  
Seven sat cross-legged on the floor in her plum biosuit. Her back was impossibly straight and her hair was pinned up in its usual severe style. The infant—still nameless—sat cradled in her lap, wearing a yellow jumper and squealing happily as Mizati leaned over her, dangling locks of long, chestnut hair just within her reach. Tiny hands made a game of trying to grab it, missing every time. After a moment, the baby squeaked with outrage and frustration.  
  
"Mizati. Do not tease the infant." Seven's reproach was gentle and colored with the sound of a smile.  
  
The little girl grinned wickedly. "Yes, Seven," she said, turning to rejoin her playmates.  
  
The scene was the most domestic B'Elanna had witnessed since she'd been coming to the cargo bay and she wondered if Seven's apparent emotions were real or simply studied responses. Some part of her, a barely acknowledged part, quietly hoped they were not studied.  
  
As Mizati turned, she caught B'Elanna's gaze, a tiny frown skating over her features.  
  
"How will you be able to see the performance from there, Lieutenant?"  
  
"I...uh..." The isometric torch B'Elanna was holding suddenly felt heavy in her hand. The invitation was unexpected. Naomi, the skit's director, looked from the engineer to the performance space and back, clearly working out how to include her in the proceedings.  
  
"I suppose I could use a break," said the Klingon, flipping the torch off and setting it down. "Besides," she added as she walked over to sit near Seven, "this sort of thing doesn't happen every day."  
  
"What 'sort of thing'?" Seven looked slightly baffled.  
  
B'Elanna grinned. "Live entertainment that doesn't involve the Doctor singing."  
  
"If the Doctor's vocal emanations could be considered 'live'," said Seven with a hint of a sneer. "Or 'entertainment'."  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "You have a point," she said dryly.

"Ahem," said Naomi politely, eyes slightly admonishing. "We are ready when you are."  
  
Seven nodded while B'Elanna shook her head slightly at Naomi's formal tone. She supposed she should be used to it by now, but somehow, she wasn't.  
  
"Proceed," said the ex-Borg, unconsciously re-positioning the baby in her lap so that she could see the performance clearly. A small part of her acknowledged that the action was irrelevant because the child did not possess sufficient cognitive ability to comprehend the performance. She was interested to find, however, that the majority of her consciousness simply did not care whether the child could comprehend or not. It was sufficient to know that she was present and watching.  
  
"Places!" whispered Naomi and the four children took their places around the little redhead, iCheb directly behind her, Ixan and Rebi to her left and right, and Mizati in front. As a unit, the Borg children folded themselves into small packages on the floor, heads down, and waited for their cues. Naomi stood slightly to the left of the viewscreen on the wall and she held a PADD primly in her hands.  
  
"Welcome to the first performance of _Voyager_ 's Children's Theatre."

Music, obviously cued by the computer, began.

"Tonight we bring you a retelling of the Raadamani tale, _Sokar, Child of All Pods_ , starring iCheb as the First Pair of Sine 34, Ixan as Pod Kol-Karani and the doomed Mitar, Rebi as Pod Id-Sumut and the doomed Tivala, and Mizati of Norkadia as Sokar, Child of All Pods."

The little Ktarian cleared her throat and activated the viewscreen, a depiction of an unfamiliar segment of space beginning to play. Seven was pleased to see that Naomi's instruction in Astrometrics was obviously useful to her.  
  
"A long time ago," she began, "many standard years after the Supernova of Tangent 111 and just before the Raadamani had achieved the greatness of Cosine 67, they faced a dilemma that threatened to divide them forever..."

* * *

"Wow."  
  
Seven nodded in agreement with B'Elanna's succinct comment.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Even the infant in her lap squealed in delight, though Seven thought it was not necessarily a reaction to the performance.  
  
The children had, in slightly more than an hour, acted out with skill and feeling the story of a doomed pair of lovers from adjoining Raadamani pods and the child they had created. Because the lovers were already bonded to others, the contract between the adjoining pods was nullified and they were told they would never see each other again. Rather than face that eventuality, Mitar of Pod Kol-Karani and Tivala of Pod Id-Sumut committed ritual suicide. Which left two very worthy and equally matched pods vying for the custody of their child, Sokar. With children so valued, the two pods and their allies fought bitterly but could not agree to which of them the child belonged. They had even attempted an Ulii-Marisin Decision—apparently a contest of physical prowess that was usually used as a last resort in deciding such claims. However, each of their champions had died practically at the same moment, leaving the two pods back at square one…with civil war barreling ever closer. They had no choice but to seek the judgment of the First Pair, the final word at that time in all Raadamani endeavors and conflicts.  
  
The First Pair listened patiently as each pod told their side of the conflict. After some deliberation, the First Pair admitted that both pods were equally worthy of the child and that they could not—in good conscience—choose between the two. Instead, the childless First Pair claimed custody of Sokar for themselves. They would raise her as a child of ALL the pods, with no podial loyalty, no prejudice or preference.

Raised in this way, Sokar became the first Prime, the first of her people to refrain from bonding with another, who instead turned her eyes to the future of all her people, regardless of their podial affiliations and their contracts, regardless of their wealth or their progeny. Through Sokar and those Primes that followed after her, the Raadamani found a unity and solidarity that they had previously lacked which, in turn, opened the door for the Raadamani era of greatness, universally recognized in Cosine 67.  
  
"I had not expected the Raadamani legends to be so...didactic in nature," said Seven, regarding the expectant faces of Naomi and the other children. "Nor had I expected the performance to be so precise. Perhaps we could present the piece as a suitable alternative to the Doctor's singing at a future 'Talent Night' in the mess hall."  
  
B'Elanna wanted to roll her eyes, wondering how anyone could appreciate such a dry and emotionless accolade, but the children simply beamed. It occurred to her suddenly that Seven didn't necessarily understand or react to emotional content in interaction and that the praise, while less than gushing, was certainly high praise—particularly from an ex-Borg. The young Klingon wondered briefly what an emotional display from Seven would consist of and decided, after a moment or two of blank contemplation, that she simply did not have what the Borg would call 'sufficient powers of imagination for the task'. She decided to think about it another day.  
  
"You guys did a great job with that," she said, addressing the children as she stood. "Way more entertaining than any old Klingon opera!" She ruffled Naomi's hair and smiled. "Thanks for letting me watch but I guess I should get back to—"  
  
"Lieutenant," interrupted Seven, rising from the floor. She absently repositioned her charge in her arms. "It is time for the children to consume their evening 'snack' before continuing with their studies. Would you care to join us in the mess hall? The schedule for the construction of the regeneration chamber does allow for a certain...flexibility."  
  
The unexpected anticipatory clutch of her stomach told B'Elanna that accepting this invitation was not necessarily a good idea. But there was something in Seven's stance, in the imperious way in which she held her head high that made the Klingon think that Seven was expecting her to say 'no'. B'Elanna didn't like being predictable.  
  
"Sure," she said carefully after considering the offer. "Unless the snack includes raisins." She wrinkled her nose and forehead in disgust. "I hate raisins."  
  
Naomi laughed and Mizati nodded approvingly. "I do not like raisins either, Lieutenant," she confided. "Their taste is disturbing and they are too...." She looked at Naomi questioningly. "What was that word again?"  
  
Naomi wrinkled up her face. "Squishy."  
  
"Yes," agreed Mizati. "They are too squishy. And they are visually similar to the boku fly on Norkadia...without the wings, of course." She brightened, though, when she considered her imminent snack. "I usually request chocolate pudding at this time."  
  
"Chocolate, eh?" B'Elanna grinned. "Any Pakled can replicate chocolate pudding. On the other hand, it takes a _master_ to replicate banana pudding." She held out one hand to Mizati and another to Naomi. "Lucky for you, I am the only certified master banana pudding replicator on _Voyager_."  
  
"Indeed," said Seven with a smirk. "And this certification is included in your personnel record?"  
  
"Yep," said the Klingon as she led the way out of the cargo bay and towards the turbolift. "Right under Engineer of the Year, 2475 and right before my Targ-wrestling license." She flashed a smile at Seven. "You probably overlooked that section of the file because of its 'irrelevance'."  
  
Seven did not quite know how to respond to the jibe though she was certain it was not appropriate for her to offer the opinion that she doubted there was anything irrelevant about B'Elanna Torres. The thought made her uncomfortable enough without having it voiced.

* * *

The snack period lasted much longer than the time Seven had allocated for it. However, since the children were intent on interrogating B'Elanna about various facets of her life and history, she determined that the experience was appropriately educational.  
  
iCheb was very interested in B'Elanna's function aboard _Voyager_ , particularly her vast knowledge of engineering. He surprised her by asking a rapidly paced series of very intelligent questions regarding energy distribution, the EPS manifold, and the possibility of adding Borg-enhanced plasma injectors to the array. The twins were extremely interested in B'Elanna's genetic heritage, asking all sorts of scientific questions the young woman just wasn't sure she had the answers for. Mizati, on the other hand, was primarily interested in B'Elanna's time in the Maquis, desperate to hear of covert operations, close calls, and narrow escapes. None of their interests were surprising in the slightest to Seven.  
  
iCheb was intent upon learning anything that might facilitate a commission to Starfleet as an Astrometrics officer. Ixan and Rebi appreciated duality and its application to various shipboard functions. Seven thought that they would make excellent geneticists, especially when one considered their own unique Borg duality. They were almost a collective unto themselves, the two of them able to communicate privately via their cortical implants. Mizati, the youngest, was more difficult to 'pin down'. She loved disorder, chaos, creativity and…bugs. Seven supposed she would either make an excellent artist or inventor, if Leonardo DaVinci's similar interests were any indication, or possibly a brilliant xeno-entymologist, if one took into account her apparent interest in insects.  
  
"Tell us another anecdote of your time in the Maquis, Lieutenant," said Mizati as the group—minus Naomi Wildman, who had been called home for bed—walked toward the cargo bay. She was holding hands with the engineer and gazing at her with round eyes filled with admiration. Part of B'Elanna was distinctly uncomfortable by the attention and part of her kinda liked being looked up to for once. She opened her mouth to respond but Seven beat her to it.  
  
"No more stories tonight, Mizati. You have imposed upon Lieutenant Torres enough for one evening. In any case, it is time for you to regenerate."

For a moment it was iffy whether or not Mizati would comply, but she finally conceded.

"Yes, Seven," she muttered resignedly. She did not, however, release B'Elanna's hand and they continued to walk down the corridor together. Rebi, the quieter of the twins, glanced at the pair's linked hands once or twice, then—with a minor adjustment in his course—he sidled closer to Seven. She walked slightly ahead of him, her hands linked behind her back in their customary resting-place since iCheb had offered to carry the baby.

Rebi eyed her left hand for a moment as they walked and then silently reached out and took it in his own.

Seven stopped and turned, looking down at the child curiously. Then she nodded and the two of them resumed their journey…hand in hand. The rest of the group did not seem to notice.

By the time they finally reached the cargo bay, even talkative Mizati was ready to regenerate...though she didn't relish the idea of being separated from her newfound friend. She stood at the edge of her alcove and held tightly to B'Elanna's hand.  
  
"If Ensign Kim and I go to the holodeck again soon, Lieutenant, will you come with us? We've been adding Ferengi and Talaxian monks to Commander Tuvok's meditation programs."  
  
B'Elanna smirked. "Yeah, so I heard." She didn't add that she thought it was a brilliant prank. Obviously Harry was enough of a bad influence on this kid.  
  
"Well, will you? I believe you would have...fun."  
  
"Uh...sure. If I have the time, I'll go to the holodeck with you and Harry someday."  
  
Mizati nodded. "Acceptable." She hesitated before entering her alcove. "You will be here tomorrow evening, won't you? If you would like, I could assist with the construction of the regeneration chamber. I possess the necessary skills."  
  
B'Elanna ruffled the little girl's hair and smiled. "We'll see. You'll have to finish your homework first and then it's up to Seven, okay? Now, it's time for you to go to...uh, regenerate."  
  
The little girl stepped back into the alcove without further protest but did not release her hold on B'Elanna's hand. She made connection with the access plate and the alcove began its start-up routine with a hum.  
  
"Goodnight, Lieutenant," she said quietly just before the alcove claimed her consciousness. Only when her eyes closed did her grip on B'Elanna's hand finally relax.  
  
"'Night, kiddo," said the engineer softly, gently extracting herself from the little girl's hold. She watched her for a moment, then turned to see Seven overseeing the twins and iCheb. When the four older children were safely regenerating, B'Elanna approached Seven. Without a word, she retrieved the temporary sling Seven had created to help support the weight of the baby and began fastening it to the ex-Borg.  
  
"Thanks for inviting me to snack time," she said finally, fingers adjusting the closures along Seven's shoulders. "It was nice of you."  
  
Seven raised the optical implant over her left eye. "In the past, you have characterized me as rude. It is not a trait I wish the children to learn." She paused for a moment and looked down. "Also, the children...and I...enjoy your company."  
  
B'Elanna froze. "Oh," she said, her hearts pounding inside her chest. "Thanks."

As she finished with the last closure, her fingers brushed against the soft, pale skin of Seven's neck right above her collar line and she gasped. She couldn't help it. Her physical response to that simple, innocent touch swept through her entire body with the ferocity of a matter/antimatter explosion. Even her fingers trembled, a sensation she didn't think she had ever experienced before. She snatched her hand away guiltily, took a deep breath, and gave the ex-drone a hesitant pat on the shoulder.  
  
"There you go," she said, her mouth as dry as a Vulcan desert. "All fixed up." She smiled weakly, hoping Seven wouldn't notice that she had lost her composure.  
  
"Thank you," said Seven quietly. It was all she could manage amid certain strong and almost frightening physiological responses to the inconsequential touch of B'Elanna's skin on her own. Her heart raced and she seemed almost unable to breathe, as if her involuntary neural processors had somehow gone offline. Her abdomen felt strange, as if experiencing a fall from a great height, and her skin seemed to be hypersensitive and…tingly. She shook her head slightly and tried to regain her composure, covering her unease with the task of settling the infant inside the sling.

She finally stepped back into her alcove, stopping abruptly just before she made contact with the access plate.

"Will you be staying to continue your work?"

B'Elanna shook her head. "No. I don't want to wake the kids." She looked down for a second then returned her chestnut gaze to the Borg's. She felt absurdly exposed under Seven's intense scrutiny. "I'll just make sure you…and the little one there…get settled. Okay?"

Seven only nodded, finally breaking eye contact to step fully into her alcove. The hum of the cycle's start-up routine began and two assimilation tubules erupted from the back of her left hand, slithering over the infant's belly until they made contact with a small, starburst implant located where the navel would usually be. That task complete, Seven looked up, her eyes impossibly blue.

"Goodnight, B'Elanna," she said with the smallest of smiles. Then her eyes closed.

* * *

Two weeks later, Ixan and Rebi were gone.

It had all happened so quickly—the arrival of the Vacunai ship, the twins' reunion with practically their entire extended family group, including more than fifteen cousins, Janeway's mandatory transitional interviews and determination of fitness—that B'Elanna still didn't know what to think.

She knew what she _knew_ —that Ixan and Rebi's parents had been crewmembers aboard a deep space exploration vessel that had accidentally come upon a Borg cube attempting to assimilate a band of science colonies located in a remote system. All hands on the _Czexi_ had been lost in the ensuing battle.

What she didn't know, what she hadn't been a part of were the four days the Vacunai had remained off their port bow. Only Seven would truly know what had happened those four days and B'Elanna was more than surprised that Seven had chosen to share the knowledge with her.

_When their remaining family on Vacuna heard that the twins had been rescued, they lost no time in procuring a vessel that would take them directly to Voyager._

_They were a loud, boisterous family, excited to see their lost sheep, even more excited to see that they had remained together through their ordeal. Apparently all Vacunai births were multiples, either twins, triplets, or more. Singly born children were rare and were specially cared for, their emotional and physical health somehow suspect without a womb-partner._

_The Family Cugai was very concerned that the transition of the children happen at their instigation alone. They saw no need to push the boys to accept them immediately, well aware that such a request would no doubt damage them psychologically. They eagerly worked with Seven of Nine, learning the boys' needs and interests. They accepted all of her recommendations as law and deferred to her authority in such matters as the twins' physical requirements, regeneration technology, and implant maintenance._

_In the end, neither Janeway nor Seven saw any reason to refuse when the boys finally came forward and said they were ready to rejoin their family unit. And though the thought of the boys leaving stung Seven deeply, she did not fear for their safety as she had for iCheb's during his reunion with his people._

_The Vacunai insisted that Seven be present to say goodbye to the boys when they took their leave of Voyager and she was, despite her wish to be elsewhere. She apparently was not adept in hiding the very real pain she was feeling because the eldest male of the Family Cugai put his hand on her shoulder._

_"You will always be a part of their lives, Seven of Nine," he said lowly to her, so only she could hear. "Rebi has already told me that when he marries and has his first set of girls, they will be named Seven and Nine, after you." He smiled ruefully. "I don't actually envy them the names, but I do support the feeling that inspired them. Our family will always be grateful for the love and care you gave to our lost ones." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "Let that comfort you when you miss them."_

_Unable to trust her voice at that moment, Seven could only nod._

_The elder man took his place on the transport platform and just as transport began, he and the twins all raised their left hands and waved to Seven one last time. Seven stood for a long time in the transporter room, staring at the empty platform._

B'Elanna sat across from Seven now, making half-hearted attempts to lay power transfer conduits in the Bassinet. iCheb and Mizati were off with Naomi and her mother for snack time in the mess hall so it was just the three of them here in the cargo bay—Seven, the baby, and herself. Seven sat in the rocking chair with the infant, but she didn't rock or sing as she usually did. She just held the little girl stiffly, almost not seeing her at all.

B'Elanna didn't wonder why. Seven had been through so much emotional upheaval in the last week that she expected sitting quietly was a great relief. Still, the young Klingon wondered if maybe Seven's willingness to share details of what had happened wasn't some sort of cry for help—though she would have thought Seven would have gone to the captain if she needed to talk.

 _Unless_ , thought B'Elanna, _that fight she had with the captain over iCheb was more than just ship's gossip_.

Just then, the baby squirmed and made a sound of discomfort. Seven looked down at her with sad eyes but made no move to comfort her. B'Elanna pursed her lips, dropped her calibration wrench, and walked over to Seven.

"Here," she said, reaching for the baby, "let me take her."

"No!" Seven clutched the baby to her chest and glared at B'Elanna, her eyes flashing.

B'Elanna's first response was anger and it flared along her skin like wildfire. But it was over in an instant as she realized that Seven's silence was not relief but barely controlled pain. She knelt next to the rocking chair and put her hand tentatively on Seven's.

"Hey, it's okay, Seven," she said softly. "I won't take her if you don't want me to. I just thought you could use a break."

Seven blinked, the fiery blue of her eyes bleeding out again to a pale gray.

"I am sorry, B'Elanna." She presented the infant to her. "Please take her."

The Klingon took the baby and cradled her close, still wondering how she could have grown so attached to something so small, so helpless, and so fundamentally other than what she had always promised herself. She almost snorted at the list of rules she had made for herself at the tender age of eleven. Rules that she suspected had been ruling her ever since.

__**No friends—because friends will betray you.** _ _

__****You fought that one as long as you could, didn't you, Half-breed? Until you got your butt stuck on this Starfleet ship 70,000 lightyears from nowhere._ _

__**No family—because family always lets you down.** _ _

__****Except Mom didn't let me down. She came through when I least expected it. And I came through for her. I never thought that would happen, never thought my honor would count for anything with her._ _

__**No love—because love hurts.** _ _

__****I…I thought I loved Tom, but did I? We were never what each of us wanted in a mate. We were both so wrapped up in ourselves. Which is why the last two rules— **No marriage—because marriage never lasts** and **No children—because children ruin**_ **_everything_** — _haven't happened. And probably never will.__

"B'Elanna?"

Seven's soft voice startled the Klingon out of her reverie.

"Yeah?"

"Explain the significance of your name."  
  
B'Elanna turned and frowned. "What?"  
  
"My designation is just that—a means of identifying one drone from another. Recently I have learned that names can have additional significance. I wish to know if your name has any significance."  
  
"Oh." The young Klingon took a seat at one of the children's desks, cuddling the baby in an absent-minded way. "Well, my father apparently wanted to name me after his younger sister, Annabel, who died when she was very young. My mother, of course, wanted a Klingon name for me. So they compromised and I got stuck with B'Elanna."  
  
"You do not like your name." Though said as a statement, B'Elanna heard the underlying question.  
  
"Well...growing up, no, I didn't like it. I used to think that if my name were one or the other, either Human or Klingon, that I would fit in better. I used to wish my name was Annabel Torres and that a Starfleet officer would come rescue me from my province on Qo'noS and take me to live with him on a big Federation ship. Maybe it was that fantasy that made me join Starfleet when I was fifteen."  
  
"But you are not Annabel Torres. You are B'Elanna Torres. Why would you desire a name that was not your own?"  
  
"I don't now, Seven," clarified B'Elanna. "I am learning to like the Klingon things about myself, including my name. I'm just starting to realize what my name means, what it represents."  
  
"Elaborate." Seven's eyes were clear and blue for the first time in days.  
  
B'Elanna wanted more than anything to change the subject. She'd never been one to be all warm and fuzzy and introspective, always preferring to keep herself and others in the dark regarding her inner demons. However, her experience with the Barge of the Dead had put a crack in that wall, had let in some light. And if shining more light on her inner demons would distract Seven from her pain for just a little longer, well, B'Elanna just couldn't see a down side to that.  
  
"I...I don't remember much about my father, Lieutenant Enrique Torres. He left my mother and me when I was five. I remember his red uniform, how proud he was to wear it. I remember his dark hair. I remember him tickling my belly and teasing me in Spanish. He called me Mi Chica Loca...My Crazy Girl. I remember him at my fourth birthday party, shaking his head and telling me how much I looked like his sister, Annabel..."

She shook her head, dislodging the fog of her fading memories.  
  
"I always thought my father hated me but now I realize that he must have loved me once. He loved me enough to want to name me after a sister he adored." She paused and let the baby tug on her finger for a moment. "And Mom loved me enough to want me to understand my Klingon heritage. It would have been so much easier for her to pack me off somewhere and get on with her life. It wasn't her fault I blamed the Klingons for everything bad that ever happened to me." She turned her gaze toward Seven. "So I guess my name represents the love of my parents and the history of my people. And the blending of the two." She snorted self-consciously. "That little gem of an insight would have saved me some heartache when I was a kid."  
  
"You derive all of that from your name?" Seven didn't seem to believe that so much knowledge could come from what seemed to be an arbitrary choice of designation for a child who had yet to exhibit any personality.  
  
"Well, from my name and the people who gave it to me."  
  
"And Rebi's future daughters? What will they derive from their names?"  
  
B'Elanna felt like a charging Targ had hit her full on. She had assumed Seven's interest in names stemmed from the still-nameless infant now sitting in her lap, gurgling happily. It hadn't even occurred to her that Seven might be confused about a 10-year-old boy's promise of loyalty and regard.  
  
"If Rebi is a good father," she said, struggling against the tightness in her chest, "he will tell his daughters that someone once cared enough about him to think of his happiness and his future above anything else. And that he cared enough about her to want to remember her for it."  
  
Seven looked away. Silence stretched wire-thin between the two women.  
  
"I am...glad your name is B'Elanna," she said softly after an eternity. She looked up, her eyes more blue than B'Elanna had ever seen them.

"It suits you."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the _USS_ _Voyager_ sat quietly in her command chair, only partially aware of her surroundings. It had been an uneventful morning on the bridge and such times often lent themselves to pensiveness and introspection. The topic today seemed to be Seven of Nine.  
  
Having Seven be the Borg children's guardian had seemed like such a good idea originally. She had imagined companionship and mentoring, discipline and attentiveness. She had never once imagined that her Astrometrics officer might harbor tenacious feelings for the children.  
  
 _Why didn't I see this coming?_ she wondered bleakly. She thought back to One, the drone who had been with them for so short a time. She realized now that One had been Seven's son, for all intents and purposes. And that his death must have been much more devastating to the young woman than she had ever realized.  
  
 _Had she wanted to scream under all that analytic categorization of her feelings?_

Kathryn thought about the 'philosophical discussions' inspired by One's death.

_Had she wanted to cry and didn't know how?_  
  
She remembered the look on Seven's face when iCheb had made the final transport to the Brunali homeworld. Giving the order to make the transport had been one of the hardest things Janeway had ever done. Perhaps that's why she'd been so willing to take Seven at her word when she called her to Astrometrics at 0300 one night with the story that iCheb was in danger. Anything would have been better than to see Seven endure that silent pain for one more hour.  
  
 _And now we've done it to her again..._  
  
Kathryn was the first to notice that Seven hadn't come to her after the final transport of the twins. She'd expected something. Anger at the very least. But no, Seven spared her nothing.  
  
 _Would she just bury her feelings?_ she wondered. _Or is there someone else she would go to now?_  
  
Kathryn frowned, not particularly liking the thought or the emotion it ignited within her.  
  
"Captain." Tuvok's voice brought Janeway suddenly and sharply back to the bridge. She turned to look at him.  
  
"Yes, Tuvok?"  
  
The raise of a single eyebrow and a slight nod to his head indicated that there was something he thought she should take a look at. Curious, she looked down at her station...and promptly paled. She was up out of her chair before her first officer even had a chance to ask what was the matter.  
  
"I'll take care of this," she barked. "Tuvok, you're with me. Chakotay, you have the bridge."

  
"I don't want to jump to any conclusions here, Tuvok," said Janeway, glancing at her security chief in the confines of the turbolift. "But if she's attempting to contact the Borg, I want options from you within the hour. Understood?"  
  
"I do not believe she is attempting to contact the Borg. She possesses the necessary skills to send a direct message to an extrapolated location based upon their last known location and flight path. This transmission was a wide-band subspace broadcast."  
  
"If not the Borg, then who? The Vacunai twins?"  
  
The Vulcan declined to speculate. "Perhaps we should allow Mizati to explain for herself."  
  
The doors to the auxiliary communications array opened to allow the two officers passage. Mizati stood quietly in the center of the room, her hands clasped behind her back in a very familiar fashion.  
  
"Captain," she said, nodding politely. "Mr. Tuvok. I did not expect you to adapt so quickly."  
  
Janeway nodded to Tuvok who approached the console and monitors. She then turned a laser-like gaze on the unruffled child still standing at attention.  
  
"You have some explaining to do, young lady," said the captain darkly. "You know better than this." If it concerned Kathryn at all that she sounded exactly like her own mother, she didn't acknowledge it.  
  
"I am aware of the consequences of my actions, Captain. I am prepared to endure them without complaint. Will Mr. Tuvok be escorting me to the brig?"  
  
Kathryn blinked. It was one thing to talk sternly to a misbehaving child. It was quite another to send her to the brig.  
  
"Captain." Tuvok stepped in and handed her a PADD, only somewhat cognizant that he had just saved the captain from a fairly embarrassing moment.

Mizati turned her unflappable gaze upon the Vulcan.

"Your size does not intimidate me," she said confidently as Janeway read the report.

Tuvok frowned. "I had not intended it to intimidate you."

"Enough," said Janeway. "Tuvok, wait for me outside, will you?"

"As you wish, Captain," said the Vulcan.

When the door had closed behind him, Janeway knelt in front of her eight-year-old passenger.

"Mizati, what's this all about?" She indicated the PADD in her hand.

" _Voyager_ has been more successful at finding our parents and families than I had originally calculated. The probability that you will find my family has now reached 78%. That is unacceptable."

"Unacceptable? Don't you want to see your parents again?" Janeway was sincerely confused. She'd expected transitional problems when the children were actually faced with reuniting with their families. She hadn't, however, expected problems _before_ a family member had been found.

"No. iCheb says we are Borg. We do not require parents."

"Well, like it or not—Borg or not—you _have_ parents. Don't you think they want to find you?"

For the first time since their conversation had begun, Mizati lowered her eyes.

"There is a high probability that you are accurate. I do not wish them to come for me. That is why I sent the transmission."

Janeway looked at the PADD again and marveled at the brief message.

_To all Norkadian vessels en route to Voyager: I regret to inform you that the young Norkadian female rescued from the Borg Collective has perished in an accident. There are no remains to return to you as the accident involved a large explosion. I am sorry for your loss. Captain K. Janeway of the USS Voyager_

It was an efficient and well-executed deception. She realized she couldn't have done better herself.

"Don't you miss your parents, Mizati?"

The little girl shook her head, suddenly seeming more like a little girl and less like a Borg.

"I do not remember them. iCheb is chronologically older than I am, however, I was Borg for a longer time than he was. He only spent four years in his maturation chamber. I spent seven years in mine."

_Voyager_ 's captain reeled. That meant Mizati had been taken as an infant, that she had no prior knowledge of her family or her life. She gentled her tone and reached out to the child, putting her hand on the little girl's shoulder. If she couldn't appeal to Mizati's sense of family then perhaps she could appeal to her sense of curiosity.

"Don't you want a mother like other little girls? Like Naomi Wildman has?"

Nothing in the Universe could have prepared Kathryn Janeway for the feral and absolute conviction of Mizati's response.

"I _have_ a mother like Naomi Wildman's," she said, narrowing her small, hazel eyes. "Her name is Seven of Nine."

* * *

B'Elanna Torres shifted the weight of her tool kit on her shoulder as she made her way to cargo bay 2. She walked the corridors slowly, knowing that she would probably finish the Bassinet today. And that would mean all that was left was the testing phase, something that required a limited amount of input from her.

B'Elanna steeled herself and quickened her pace.

_I've dragged my feet on this long enough_ , she thought harshly. _Seven and the baby need this to be finished._

And yet part of the young woman knew that once it was finished, she would have little reason to spend time with the children.

_Or with Seven_ , added her inner voice snidely. She ignored it.

B'Elanna couldn't begin to explain what had happened, why the past few weeks had changed how she felt about Seven of Nine. All she knew was where she once saw callousness and ice, she now saw compassion and warmth. Where  
she once saw arrogance and aloofness, she now saw curiosity and connection. Seven was no longer the epitome of everything she abhorred. Instead, she seemed remarkably like B'Elanna herself: a woman with dueling heritages, deeply guarded emotions, absent parents, and a past she was continually trying to atone for.  
  
 _Kahless_ , she swore. _Get a grip, Klingon. It's not like you're interested in her—_  
  
The thought stopped the young engineer in her tracks. Its implication rose in her mind like a blood-red Qo'noS dawn, revealing feelings that had only lived in shadows before. The explosive reaction to the touch of her skin, the dawdling on the project, the need to see Seven and the baby 'settled' before she left the cargo bay in the evenings...could these things indicate attraction? Desire?  
  
"No!" she said firmly, gripping the tool kit and marching forward. _Don't go there, B'Elanna. You've ruined perfectly good friendships with that kind of Targ dung! And friends are not something you can spare out here in the middle nowhere._

She reached the cargo bay doors and stood outside them for a moment, collecting her tumultuous thoughts. _Besides, Klingon_ , she reproached herself, _Seven is...well, Seven._ She had no words to describe the young woman's lithe beauty. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. _And YOU are definitely not. Even if she could feel those things, she wouldn't feel them about you._  
  
She took a deep breath and crammed all her inner chaos into a dark little box at the back of her brain. Finally ready to face the last day of her project, she stepped forward and let the doors open. Six heads all turned in her direction.  
  
"B'Elanna!" Mizati bounded forward, grinning from ear to ear. She caught the engineer's hand in her own—by now a common mode of interaction—and pulled her further into the room. "We are going on a picnic! For our evening meal!"  
  
"A picnic?" She looked quizzically at the group of revelers and then turned to Seven, who graced her with a small, bright smile. The little one, dressed in a lavender jumper, squirmed in her arms.  
  
"Neelix suggested this activity. He is providing the meal and we will consume it on the holodeck. Naomi's programming assignment from last week will be the setting. Of course, she invited her mother."  
  
"You have to come with us!" said Mizati excitedly. "Resistance is futile!"  
  
B'Elanna laughed out loud. "Somehow," she said dryly, "I don't think picnics were what the Borg had in mind when they came up with that phrase."  
  
"Which is why they are flawed," stated iCheb confidently. He, too, seemed excited by the prospect of a new activity.  
  
"Will you come with us, B'Elanna? Please?" Mizati looked up at her friend beseechingly.  
  
The young Klingon could feel what little resistance she had mustered fading with each passing second. She looked up at Seven and offered her last protest.

"What about the Bassinet? I could be done with it tonight."  
  
"It will keep," said Seven. "As Mizati said, resistance is futile."   
  
B'Elanna rolled her eyes, making the two little girls giggle. "Oh, all right. You win. Let's go assimilate some dinner."

She was suddenly glad she'd taken the time to change after her shift was over since her uniform would have been out of place with the others' more casual outfits. Except for Seven, of course, whose only capitulation to the casual dress of the event was to wear her plum-colored biosuit instead of her more formal blue/gray one.

The young Klingon wondered briefly what Seven would look like in something more civilian and was immediately rewarded with a vision of her in a black one-piece swimsuit, hair unpinned and wet, falling around bared shoulders...

Startled and embarrassed, she quickly shook the image from her head and focussed instead on the children, a much safer topic.  
  
"So Scout," she said, using the pet name she had given Naomi when she was a tyke. "Tell me about your holoprogram. Your teacher practically gushed over it when she was telling me about it."  
  
Seven smirked. "Borg do not 'gush'."  
  
"I didn't say they did," retorted B'Elanna with an evil grin.  
  
"It's nothing special, Lieutenant. Just an Earth meadow with apple trees and a small stream. It was easy to program."  
  
"The simplicity of the setting is not the point, Naomi," said Seven. "The innovation of your programming theory is the impressive component."  
  
Naomi beamed. "Thanks, Seven."  
  
"Tell us about it!" urged Neelix as they walked along deck three. He and Samantha Wildman had the picnic basket between them and they wobbled a bit due to the difference in their heights.  
  
Naomi all but rolled her eyes. "Do I have to talk about my homework now? I thought we were supposed to be having fun!"  
  
Seven of Nine, ex-Borg drone and known for her appreciation of efficiency, surprised everyone when she agreed with Naomi.  
  
"Naomi is correct. Let us refrain from discussing ship's business, departmental work, or schoolwork for the remainder of the evening. We could all use…'a break'."

She glanced at B'Elanna then quickly looked away, thinking that she herself could use 'a break' from the strange and confusing feelings she experienced when with the engineer. She had grown increasingly dependent on B'Elanna's evening visits and the conversations they inspired. She found herself looking forward to the end of her shifts, found herself curious on a variety of topics that before had lacked relevance. She had even begun to regret her regeneration cycle in the evenings, wishing, instead, that she could continue whatever conversation she and the Klingon had been engaged in. She did, however, find herself…pleased by B'Elanna's insistence on staying until she and the baby were settled in the cycle. In fact, the act never failed to fill her with a strange feeling of warmth that was more often than not followed by a clutch of her abdominal muscles.

It was all very confusing and Seven was still contemplating it when the group entered the holodeck. Naomi looked up at her expectantly and she returned her focus to the activity at hand. She nodded at the young Ktarian, feeling a sudden wash of pride for her student.

"Computer, run program Wildman Nu-1, please," said the little Ktarian in a clear voice.

The black and yellow grid walls dissolved, replaced by an idyllic scene.

"Great Bird!" said Neelix, nearly dropping his side of the basket. "Naomi, this is wonderful!"

They all stood in the center of a small meadow surrounded by apple trees in blossom, their delicate cream-colored petals dancing on a sweet-scented breeze. The sun shone overhead in a bright blue sky peppered with fluffy white clouds and the temperature was perfection, warm but not humid or uncomfortable. Birds sang from their treetop homes and the quiet burbling of a stream that ran gently through the meadow was more than soothing.

"Oh, Naomi," said Samantha, looking at her daughter warmly. "This is a beautiful place to have a picnic!" She started to lower her side of the basket, intending to get underway with their dinner.

"Not yet, Mom! I added some stuff today! Computer, add Picnic Accessories Package 1."

Instantly, several things materialized around the meadow. A huge, brilliantly colored picnic blanket dominated the foreground, while a small bridge appeared over the stream, leading to a badminton net and play area on the other side. A huge woven hammock swayed beneath two apple trees, with pillows and a lovely purple throw waiting patiently for an occupant or two. A small Bajoran swing cradle sat beneath a small sun canopy, ready for the baby's naptime.

"Wow," said B'Elanna, truly impressed. "Remind me to come to you the next time I want to program something, okay, Scout? You make those holoprogrammers from the Federation Art Society look like hacks!" She grinned and Naomi grinned back.

"Let's get this picnic underway!" said Neelix excitedly. "You children go play and explore while we grownups get everything ready, okay? Seven will call you when it is time."

"Come on!" said Naomi, grabbing Mizati by the hand and dragging her toward the bridge. "I programmed all sorts of games and stuff for us to play!"

iCheb hurried after them. "Wait for me!" he shouted at them. "I can teach you some Brunali athletic activities!"

Seven watched them go, taking her eyes off of them only when they reached the other side of the bridge safely. She turned back to Neelix and found him and Samantha busily unpacking the large basket.

"Can I be of assistance, Mr. Neelix?" she asked.

"Oh, no need to be so formal, Seven! Call me Neelix! And no, no assistance needed by you ladies. Samantha and I have everything under control." He turned a warm gaze toward them both. "Why don't you take that baby for a walk? Some fresh air will do you all some good."

The two women regarded each other warily for a moment, both of them eager and yet hesitant to comply.

"Are you sure, Neelix?" asked B'Elanna. "I mean, we…um…wouldn't want to be rude or—"

"Go, go, go!" said the little Talaxian, waving them away. "We'll be just fine. By the time you get back, we'll be ready to eat! Go, have fun! What is it you Borg always say? Resistance is futile?"

Seven very nearly rolled her eyes. "I am sure the Borg Queen would be pleased to know the Borg have so many admirers aboard this vessel. Especially ones who have mastered basic Borg communications."

B'Elanna and Samantha both laughed. Neelix simply gaped at Seven as if she'd sprouted wings.

"Come on, Seven," said B'Elanna, tugging the young blond away from the picnic area. "Let's go on that walk before Neelix throws something at us."

"Very well."

As they headed across the meadow toward a meandering path of stones that disappeared into the surrounding woods, B'Elanna quite clearly heard Samantha Wildman say, "Yes, Neelix, it was a joke. Now relax and hand me those sandwiches, please."

Seven smiled slightly and the Klingon realized she had heard Samantha's comment as well.

_Sneak_ , she thought. _There is a sense of humor under all that Borgness._ However, she quickly stopped herself from wondering what else Seven was hiding beneath her armor of ice.

She just didn't want to go there.

* * *

B'Elanna was stuffed. She looked back at the kids, all of them sitting around Neelix waiting for their ice cream cones, wondering where they had room for dessert because she absolutely knew she would burst if she had one more bite.

"Ugh," she said, turning away. She couldn't decide which food was the main cause of her discomfort: the fried chicken or the potato salad. She'd eaten enough of both to feed a small assault team.

She wandered away from the blanket and ended up at the hammock, pushing it with her fingers and thinking how lovely it would be to lay in it and take a little nap. She stole a glance at Seven, sitting with Samantha and rocking the baby in the swing cradle, and tried not to imagine her in the hammock, too.

"B'Elanna?"

B'Elanna looked down at Mizati and her ice-cream-ringed mouth. The little girl apparently had an appreciation for the substance because she grinned widely between bites.

"Yeah, kiddo?" The Klingon was grateful for the interruption.

"Will you take a walk with me?"

"Sure." She grinned, knowing she couldn't deny the little girl anything. She also hoped a leisurely walk would help her feel less like an overloaded freight cruiser.

Mizati took B'Elanna's hand and they headed toward the bridge over the stream. They stopped in the middle and looked down at the water meandering by, cream-colored petals dappling the surface and sunshine glinting like diamonds in their eyes.

Shouts from across the meadow made them both look up and they saw Naomi laughing, chased by Neelix around the blanket while Samantha, iCheb, and Seven all looked on, smiling. B'Elanna's eyes rested on Seven's features for a long moment until she sensed she was being scrutinized.

She looked down at Mizati's curious face.

"Yeah?" she asked, a little embarrassed that she'd been caught…again.

The little girl cocked her head and frowned slightly, the look comical when coupled with the sticky ring around her mouth.

"What are your intentions toward Seven?" asked the little girl seriously.

B'Elanna felt her brain explode. She was sure of it. What else would explain her absolute inability to process the question?

"What?!"

"Your intentions, B'Elanna," repeated the little girl, slowly, as if talking to someone who was intellectually challenged. "As the eldest female in Seven's family unit, it is my duty to maintain vigilance over her welfare."

B'Elanna felt the defensiveness that was her usual reaction to emotional questions creep over her, making her bristle. But as she looked down at Mizati's earnest and sincere features, it left her in a wave.

_Kahless, she's just a kid. She doesn't know what she's talking about._

She knelt next to the child and took her hand into her own.

"I don't think I understand what you're asking, kiddo. Seven and I are friends."

"I am aware of your current relationship," said Mizati. B'Elanna breathed a sigh of relief. "I am also aware that it is insufficient," she added suddenly.

"Insufficient?" squeaked the Klingon.

"Yes. Your behavior suggests you desire more from Seven."

B'Elanna swallowed carefully. "In what way?"

"While the amount of time you have spent working on the regeneration chamber has increased by a factor of two, the efficiency of your work has decreased by 57%. The project has already exceeded the proposed schedule by six days."

Before B'Elanna could come up with a suitable excuse, Mizati continued.

"And in the last week alone, you have spent 33.4 minutes watching Seven when she was not aware of the attention, you have smiled at her 56 times, and you have stayed until she and the infant entered their regeneration cycle 5 out of 7 nights. Is this behavior typical of your relationships with your other friends?"

The engineer blinked. Having it laid out before her in report fashion took the wind out of her denials. But she wasn't going to actually admit to anything. No way.

"It's not that simple, kiddo."

"I do not see the difficulty, B'Elanna. You prefer Seven's company to anyone else aboard _Voyager_. She prefers your company. The equation is simple," retorted the little girl. "However, you will note that any undue emotional stress Seven might experience while interacting with you will not be tolerated. Properly motivated, I can be a formidable opponent."

When the Klingon smiled indulgently at her, Mizati continued, her voice deadly calm.

"Do not be deceived by my size, B'Elanna. My implants provide me with sufficient strength to snap a Vulcan's neck. I suspect a Klingon's neck would be…less of a challenge."

The two of them stared at each other; Mizati completely serious and B'Elanna completely stunned. Then a scream of laughter caught the child's attention and she looked across the meadow, seeing Naomi and iCheb playing some sort of game. Her entire demeanor changed instantly from serious to playful and she grinned.

"I am going to play now, B'Elanna. Here." Mizati pushed the sticky, gooey remains of her unfinished ice cream cone into B'Elanna's hand and bounded away, waving at the other children as she ran to join them. B'Elanna blinked a few times then looked down at the cold, dripping mess in her hand. She stood up.

"Kids," she muttered, wondering how she managed to get herself into this kind of trouble all the time.

_Dumb luck_ , she decided and she headed back to the blanket.

* * *

"Your protest has been noted, Mizati, however we are still leaving." Seven looked down at the 8-year-old sternly. "Other crewmembers have scheduled this holodeck for the coming hour."  
  
Mizati's face darkened, a clear indication that Seven's pronouncement was not acceptable to her, but before she could speak, Naomi tugged on her mother's sleeve.  
  
"Mizati could spend the night with me, couldn't she, Mom? You have off rotation tomorrow and Captain Janeway said she didn't need me until after lunch."  
  
Sam glanced up at Seven briefly. "Well, I don't know Nay, honey. Doesn't Mizati have to regenerate?"  
  
The little girl in question smiled her sweetest smile at Samantha Wildman. "I require six hours of regeneration, however, if supplemented with sleep, I might only require two hours. I would be able to regenerate after my morning meal."   
  
The young mother hesitated and Naomi grabbed her hand. "Please, Mom? I've never had a sleepover before. It would be fun! We'll be good, I promise!"  
  
Samantha rolled her eyes and ruffled Naomi's long red-blond hair, wondering how she'd ever become such a pushover. "All right, Spikes. If it's okay with Seven, then it's okay with me."  
  
Mizati turned to her guardian with large, hopeful eyes. "May I, Seven? Please?"  
  
Seven raised the optical implant over her left eye. "I am not certain. What does this 'sleepover' entail?"  
  
B'Elanna, who was holding the baby in strong, careful arms, nudged Seven in the side. "You know, girl stuff!" She grinned at the little girls. "They'll have snacks and watch bad holovids and paint their nails and talk about boyfriends and girlfriends and shopping and stuff like that."  
  
Six heads all turned toward B'Elanna, looking at her as if she had turned bright purple with green spots. Even Neelix and iCheb stopped cleaning up just to gape at the Klingon.  
  
"What?" she said defensively, a frown crowding her brows as she looked from face to disbelieving face. "You don't think Klingons have sleepovers? Or do you think we're only interested in sharpening our bat'tleths?"  
  
Unconsciously, Seven put her hand on B'Elanna's forearm, a silent gesture of support and camaraderie.  
  
"I will allow you to 'sleepover' with Naomi Wildman, Mizati," said the young woman, ignoring the startled engineer's sudden silence, "provided you adhere to the following restrictions. In my absence, Samantha Wildman will be your guardian. You must listen to her and abide by her rules. If you misbehave, you will return to the cargo bay immediately. Do you understand?"

The laser-like gaze she leveled at the child did not invite opposition.

"I will comply," said Mizati meekly.  
  
"Good." Seven favored the child with a small smile. "I will expect you in the cargo bay immediately after your morning meal. In the meantime, have…fun."  
  
Sam ruffled Mizati's hair. "Now that that's settled, why don't you two go pick up something for Mizati to wear tomorrow? I'll meet you at our quarters."  
  
"Okay!" said Naomi, grabbing Mizati by the hand and dragging her towards the door. "Come on!"  
  
The young officer turned to follow the kids out, pausing at the exit to smile at the ex-Borg. "Don't worry, Seven," she said warmly. "We'll take good care of her." She waved her good-byes, then leaned down at Naomi's invitation, receiving a kiss of thanks for her trouble.  
  
Mizati watched the interaction between mother and daughter with interest, then promptly turned around and marched right back to Seven.  
  
"Your willingness to allow me to engage in extended social bonding with Naomi is appreciated," she said formally to Seven. Then she crooked a tiny finger at the impossibly tall woman, who knelt down, confusion plain on her narrow features. Mizati promptly leaned over and gave Seven a gentle kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Thank you, Mama," she said softly. In the next second, she flitted away, taking Naomi's hand at the door and running with her down the corridor.  
  
Total and utter silence followed in her wake.  
  
Slowly, Seven touched her fingers to her cheek, her eyes round and wide. An instant later, she shot upright abruptly, eyes darting self-consciously from face to face.  
  
"No," she said quietly, shaking her head. Tears welled in her pale eyes but did not spill over.

"Seven?" B'Elanna reached out to steady the shaken woman but she snatched her arm away, not wanting the touch.

"NO!" she cried.  
  
She turned and fled the holodeck.  
  
"Seven, wait!" B'Elanna watched the blonde disappear through the exit doors and cursed under her breath.  
  
"Lieutenant, is Seven upset because Mizati referred to her as 'Mama'?" iCheb's look of earnest confusion was the only thing that saved him from a typically tart Klingon response.  
  
"Good guess."  
  
"I do not understand. A 'mother' is defined as a female parent who provides a child with his or her primary sources of sustenance, shelter, protection, education, and love. Is that not Seven's function with the three of us?" He indicated himself, the absent Mizati, and the baby, now playing with her toes while B'Elanna held her.  
  
"You forgot the part where the mother actually gives birth to the child," said B'Elanna dryly, eyeing the teen narrowly.  
  
"Now that is not always the case, Lieutenant," Neelix piped up, scurrying forward to take part in the conversation. "Some of the best mothers in the Universe are the ones entrusted with children who did not come from their wombs."  
  
"Yes," agreed iCheb. "For example, my biological mother engineered me to be a weapon against the Borg and arranged for me to be assimilated not once, but twice. It was Seven who risked her life and this ship to ensure my safety and my individuality. It is Seven now who provides for my education and my physical and emotional well-being. Is she not more a mother to me than the woman who merely contributed genetic material for my creation?"  
  
"Exactly!" said Neelix, grinning from ear to ear. It had been his personal mission since the day Seven was brought on board to help others see her for who she truly was. It simply tickled him to know that others were beginning see what he saw, a beautiful but insecure young woman who wanted nothing else in the Universe than to belong somewhere.

B'Elanna could only shake her head, partially in denial and partially in disbelief. She didn't want to hear this. She didn't want to _know_ this. She was having a hard enough time keeping her thoughts about Seven corralled and orderly.  
  
iCheb pinned B'Elanna with an intense gaze. "She may appear outwardly to be unfeeling but you must look beyond the Borg phrasing as we do, Lieutenant. Beneath the efficient exterior resides a Human female who loves deeply and purely, without prejudice or expectation. And her passion, though perhaps differently expressed, is comparable to your own." He paused for a moment, carefully considering his next words.

"It seems…inefficient and wasteful to allow such powerful emotions to go…unshared."

The engineer stared at the young man with big, owlish brown eyes. She looked torn between nailing him right between the eyes and hugging him. Eventually she decided on a different course of action.

"Here," she mumbled, pushing the baby into his arms. "You talk too much, kid." Then she, too, fled the holodeck.

iCheb and Neelix said nothing. The baby gurgled.

Finally, Neelix looked up at the teen.

"I'm surprised she wasn't more…angry," said the Talaxian delicately.

"Did you expect her to strike me, Neelix?"

The mottled morale officer gruffed, his spots turning a brighter orange as he blushed. "No, no, no," he said, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. "B'Elanna's a wonderful person. She would never hit you, iCheb."

"I suspect you are correct," said the teen thoughtfully. "As my future second mother, that would be ill-advised." The boy walked out of the holodeck, making a variety of comical sounds at the baby and completely oblivious to the impact of his statement.

Neelix just slumped—slack-jawed—onto the picnic basket where Tom Paris and the Delaney twins found him moments later.

* * *

"Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

The compact chief engineer marched through the ship's corridors, her arms stiff at her sides, her fists clenched. The few crewmembers unlucky enough to be out and about quickly found other places to be, recognizing the utter folly of impeding a determined Klingon.

_"Seven of Nine is in Astrometrics,"_ came the computer's dispassionate reply.

"Fine." B'Elanna turned a corner and stepped into a waiting turbolift. "Deck nine," she snapped. The turbolift chirruped and began its journey.

"Dammit."

The young woman had no idea what she would actually say to Seven or why she was even hunting her down. She only knew that there was absolutely nowhere else for her to be.

"Dammit!" she cursed again. "How did I get stuck being a Borg's counselor?" She leaned sullenly against the turbolift wall and pouted.

_You care about her, Klingon,_ said a surprisingly calm inner voice. _Now get a grip because this isn't about you. This is about her._

B'Elanna stood stock still for a moment then sighed, the tension draining quickly and easily from her body. She did care about Seven and the sooner she stopped fighting that fact, the sooner she could move past it. Seven needed her…or more precisely, needed someone right now. She would be damned to the deepest level of Gre'Thor before she consciously turned her back on a friend in need. Her personal honor demanded nothing less.

Had the door of the turbolift been sentient, it might have noticed B'Elanna's passage through it to deck nine with something akin to boredom or disregard. Now had the doors to _Astrometrics_ been sentient, they might have been smart enough or prudent enough not have opened at all. Fortunately—or unfortunately—for B'Elanna, sentient doors just hadn't been invented yet.

Seven of Nine stood at her console, efficiently running what looked to be five different types of detailed sector scans…if B'Elanna was interpreting the data zipping almost chaotically across the large viewscreen correctly. The young Borg glanced over her shoulder when the doors opened, then looked away, the implant over her left eye raising slightly.

"I am otherwise engaged at the moment, Lieutenant," she said precisely, ignoring the Klingon's visible flinch at the cold use of her rank as a designation—something Seven hadn't done for over a month. "Please return at another time."

"No."

B'Elanna's voice did not rise or waver. Her demeanor never changed from that of simply another person in the room. However at that moment in time, she was the most immovable object in the Universe.

Stunned, Seven whirled and pinned B'Elanna with dark and angry eyes.

"Comply," she demanded, drawing herself to her full height, knowing in the way that only she could of this action's affect on others.

B'Elanna did not move a micrometer. She said nothing for a long moment, only returned Seven's burning gaze with one of her own. Then she shrugged and carefully leaned against one of the other consoles, crossing her feet at the ankles.

"No," she repeated, just as softly and just as calmly as before. In fact, she seemed completely relaxed…which only served to anger Seven further.

"You will leave. Now." The words cracked sharply and cleanly from her mouth like plates breaking against stone. B'Elanna sensed the will that kept the storm in Seven's eyes from raging and instead of defying it she said nothing. Only let her eyes, open and honest, stand silently between her and the gale. She knew instinctively that this was not the time for steel or battle. What did not bend to the raw power of Seven's anguish at this moment would surely break.

"No," she said finally. "I won't."

The tears that Seven had forbidden to fall earlier again flooded her flame-blue eyes. She took a halting step toward the Klingon as if to remove her from the room by force, but quickly found herself immobilized, obstructed by the wall she was attempting to erect around her rapidly crumbling emotional fortress. She shook with the effort of physically restraining a wail of frustration and devastation, the bound and obliterated emotions of loss and grief freed by fury from a prison believed to be invulnerable.

The ache of the twins, gone far away and forever with the family that was careless enough to lose them in the first place. The scarred wound of the first separation from iCheb, knowing the how but not the why, reviling the farce that was her status and keeping even among her own people. The irreparable, untreatable gash of One's sacrificial death, at once agonizing and heroic. Even the gritty, ashen slash and tear of the brutal assimilation of her parents, which the order of the Collective had only disguised, even after all these years.

All were laid open, bloodied anew, and they corroded, like acid, the stones of her cold and passionless Borg will.

"Seven, let it go," commanded B'Elanna gently.

"I…will…NOT…comply…" said Seven even as the first tears crested and broke, spilling down her cheeks in hot streams. Her bottom lip trembled. Her clenched fists shook.

B'Elanna stood upright and made a move towards her friend but stopped when the blonde began to shake her head.

"No," she said, fighting the catastrophic flood of emotion with the same relentless determination and the same futility of a child confronting an angry summer sea.

"NO!"

Seven backed away from B'Elanna, stumbled, then collapsed, falling at the base of one of the consoles. Silent sobs wracked her body, stealing her voice even as she continued to mouth the word 'no' over and over. Strands of her long, perfect hair pulled free from their bonds and framed her contorted face. She clung to the last atoms of pride and defiance within her, part of her still irate, still incredulous that this…this CHAOS was happening within her.

B'Elanna crouched hesitantly nearby. Her whole body, her every muscle and tendon, was a bow, taut and eager to spring forward, to act in defense of this wounded creature. Her senses were sharp, though, and directed her to be still and yet near. To be wary of the danger. To wait.

"WHY?"

Seven's anguished cry split the silence of the room like lightning. It was a question with no answer and B'Elanna knew that, understood that. She had been carrying her own battered and worn version of it for years. Instead of offering words, empty and meaningless, the young Klingon simply sat cross-legged on the deck and folded her hands in her lap.

After a while, Seven's sobs receded, leaving a sodden and disheveled woman in their wake. She did not speak, made no sound beyond a shuddering pull of air into her laboring lungs, and did not raise her head.

When she had regained a certain stillness, she whispered, "I am…weak."

B'Elanna lifted her eyes to the crumpled Borg.

"You are the strongest person I know." In her voice was the tenderness of conviction.

Seven remained unmoved.

"As a Borg, I have faced all manner of obstacles and have overcome them. I have been assigned all manner of tasks and have completed them. I have encountered thousands of species and have conquered them. Yet a single word from a child has…damaged me."

"You are not Borg."

Seven's head snapped up, her eyes swollen and accusatory.

"I am not Human," she countered.

"You are both."

Seven again lowered her head.

"I am neither."

Confusion rippled across B'Elanna's features but Seven continued before she could argue the point.

"As a Borg, only the Collective mattered. All tasks maintained the Collective. All assimilation added to the Collective. All knowledge drew the Collective nearer to perfection." She said the words without inflection or emotion, once-again gripped by the suffocating order of her past. "When I regained my individuality and knew its…aloneness, I demanded to be returned to the Borg. Captain Janeway refused, stating that my new individuality added me to a much larger Collective than the Borg had ever known. One that could be of my own choosing. One that would combine individuality and the unity I craved. One that would be more rewarding and more challenging than simply existing as a tool, as a senseless machine."

She looked up finally, eyes pale blue.

"She was correct, however I did not accept this new collective easily. With the Borg, choices and decisions did not exist. Tasks were either completed or not. Actions were made by the Collective as a whole and therefore reflected on the Collective as a whole. In this collective," she said, gesturing to the ship at large, "I am expected to make choices, to make decisions as an individual. To direct my own actions. The consequences of my actions may affect only myself or they may affect the whole, however, they _reflect_ solely on me, determining my place in this collective and my ability to function within it."

She took a small, steadying breath.  
  
"I am...unaccustomed to consequences, B'Elanna," she continued sadly, her eyes becoming liquid again. "It seems that an emotional response accompanies every one and when I fail, the damage is sharp and painful. It does not…heal easily."  
  
"When in Kahless' name have you ever failed at anything?" asked the engineer, honestly confused. One of the things that had irked her the most about Seven in the beginning was her absolute perfection. It seemed like success didn't just visit with her, but rather had moved in with her and had even commandeered her toothbrush.

Seven paused, the weight of her despair crushing her.  
  
"Everyone I have ever...loved...has left me," she said desolately. "I have failed at love."

B'Elanna tried to say something— _anything—_ but no words came, her coherence and ability to speak swallowed up by an ache that rushed over her and through her.

"But…the baby…Mizati…" she managed hoarsely.

"They have parents waiting to take them from me. I will lose them and the love I feel for them will become pain and grief."

"You don't know that, Seven!" countered the Klingon. "Their parents might be dead or—or Borg! They might never get the communiqués! They may _never_ come for them."

"It does not matter," said Seven bleakly. "Even when there are no families waiting to take my children, I lose them." She looked at her hands, one bare and Human, the other fused with cold technology. "They slip through my fingers regardless of my superior physical strength or my will."

She trembled, her eyes fixed and vacant, remembering the first child…the private and deeply personal reason she had not wanted to bring iCheb and the others aboard _Voyager_.

Her son.

"One," said B'Elanna, the certainty of her realization striking her hard. "You saw One as your child."

"He _was_ my child!" snarled Seven, her flashing eyes returning to the confines of Astrometrics and boring into B'Elanna. "Was he not created from an amalgamation of donated genetic and technological material, some of which he acquired from me? Was I not his primary guardian and instructor, providing him with guidance and knowledge? Did not my—"

The words died on her lips as her memories overcame her.

"Did not my heart…break," she continued quietly, haltingly, "when he terminated his existence to ensure our own?"

"Seven, I…I…" B'Elanna wanted to hold Seven, to gather her fiercely into her arms until the pain and sorrow left her forever. She felt tears well in her eyes and did nothing to stop them.

"I have failed at love," said Seven softly. "My heart is…broken and holds little of value…or worth."

 


	3. Chapter 3

B'Elanna did not leave the cargo bay that night.

She worked on the Bassinet steadily, feverishly, until—at 0217—she connected the energy transfer interface to the support structure, fitted the insulated cover over the hardware, and stood back, perching her hands on her hips.

"It's done," she said, looking at the chamber. It was a brilliant design for which she could claim absolutely none of the credit, though she had added an upgrade here, a circuit configuration there. All that remained now was the testing phase and then the baby would have her own regeneration unit to sleep in until she was old enough to stand in an alcove like her siblings or until she was weaned from regeneration altogether.

B'Elanna shook her head and ran her fingers along one of the cold rails, finally able to truly appreciate Seven's vision for the chamber only now that it was sitting in front of her, solid and real. A fully adaptable Borg infant's regeneration apparatus that consisted of four "phases", allowing for the child's changes in growth, development, and needs. Add to that the fact that it drew power directly from Seven's alcove unit—which allowed her to monitor the technology even while regenerating herself—and B'Elanna realized she couldn't have done better. Not one bit.

_Brilliant,_ she said, smiling slightly, feeling fully now the effects of an emotionally and physically trying day. _It's done and she's brilliant and beautiful and…_

She looked up at Seven's regenerating form for a moment, mesmerized by the long, dusky lashes that lay so gently along her cheeks and the strands of golden hair that still curled around her face. Her lips were full and slightly open, their color the softest shade of pink B'Elanna had ever seen. Long arms cradled the baby in the sling, giving the two of them the air of a post-apocalyptic Madonna and Child.

At that very instant, a deep emotion swept through B'Elanna's body like the QeHchor, a quicksilver river that ran through her province on Qo'noS. She felt now like she had when she was young, standing under the heated water of the river as it cascaded over a small outcropping of rock near her home…startled, frightened, and so damn alive she could feel the blood in her veins.

_…and I think I've fallen in love with her,_ her mind whispered, finishing her interrupted thought _._

B'Elanna's muscles froze, her body warring with her mind, neither one quite ready for the realization and yet neither one able to deny it. Relief battled with denial and insecurity with desire. The battle ended in the next instant, forgotten completely as she wondered what Seven's skin felt like, how it would be to hold her slender, pale body in her arms. She wondered how the stars would look reflected in Seven's eyes and how sweet her kiss would taste. In the safety of the chilled and quiet cargo bay, B'Elanna gave her hearts free reign for a few precious moments, letting the thunder roll and the river crash through her. She closed her eyes and gave herself permission to dream of something she knew she could never deserve, letting the dream shatter only when the cargo bay doors opened unexpectedly.

B'Elanna shot a look at the intruder, her wrath dying the instant she saw Mizati standing in the doorway, sleepily rubbing one eye with a balled fist.

"Mizati? Kiddo, are you okay?"

The little girl nodded and headed towards her personal storage unit.

"I could not sleep," she said matter-of-factly. "I forgot…something." She opened the top drawer of her storage chest and lifted out something small and flat.

"Forgot what? It's almost 0300."

Mizati regarded her friend speculatively for a moment then silently reached out a single hand, palm up, revealing the cause of her early morning mission. A battered playing card stared lifelessly up at the engineer. It was the queen of hearts with the addition of a silver crescent near the left eye, marked by a child's hand.

"It's Seven," said B'Elanna incredulously.

Mizati nodded. "I usually keep it in my pocket," she explained. "I must have forgotten it when I left with Naomi earlier."

"You really love Seven, don't you, kiddo?"

The little girl cocked her head curiously. "She is my mother. Is it not typical for a child to love her mother?"

B'Elanna discarded her first two responses, realizing that her personal experiences with her own mother had nothing to do with Mizati's question.

"Let's go sit down for a minute, okay?" she asked, holding out a hand to the little girl.

"Okay." Mizati took B'Elanna's hand and allowed the engineer to pull her into the rocking chair. The two of them sat in silence while B'Elanna worked out what she wanted to say.

Mizati sighed irritably.

"You are going to explain to me that Seven is not my mother and that if I continue to claim otherwise, both Seven and I will be hurt when it comes time for me to rejoin my family on Norkadia."

B'Elanna blinked. "Uhhhh…well, yeah." Somehow she hadn't expected Mizati to take the lead in the conversation.

"Captain Janeway already explained that to me," said the little girl. "She also said that she was bound to return me to my biological family if they came to claim me, regardless of my feelings for Seven."

"Uh huh," nodded B'Elanna, trying to picture the conversation. "And you said…?"

Mizati looked matter-of-factly at the Klingon. "I told the captain that I will not allow her to return me to a family I do not know. _Voyager_ is my family now; any other claim is irrelevant."

B'Elanna smirked and shook her head. "And what did the captain have to say to that?" she asked, guessing the lecture that had followed that little outburst had been of the 'paint peeling' variety.

"She only smiled and said we would 'cross that bridge when we come to it.' In the meantime, I am to ask for Seven's permission to designate her 'Mama'." The wide-eyed Norkadian turned her plaintive gaze toward B'Elanna. "I did not ask for her permission earlier in the holodeck. Do you think she will say no?"

B'Elanna pulled the little girl into her arms, looking over her rounded shoulders toward the still features of Seven of Nine, keen eyes making note of the strain that colored an otherwise blank expression.

"I don't know, kiddo," said the engineer as she gently began to rock Mizati. "Let's find out tomorrow, okay? We've all had a very long day."

* * *

"0600 hours. Regeneration cycle complete."  
  
Seven of Nine opened her eyes slowly, taking her time to become fully conscious. Her usual custom was to simply open her eyes and begin the day, but she recognized in herself a certain reluctance to adhere to her routine this morning and allowed herself the flexibility to do as she wished.  
  
"Good morning, sleepyhead," said a soft, chiding voice.  
  
Seven's eyes snapped open to see B'Elanna Torres sitting in the rocking chair with Mizati curled up in her arms, sleeping soundly.  
  
"B'Elanna?" Her bright blue eyes clouded over with confusion and alarm, darting from B'Elanna to Mizati and back. "Is Mizati damaged?"  
  
"She was just homesick, that's all," said the engineer softly, running her fingers along the child's cheek. She found Seven's eyes and pinned her with a pointed gaze—one that said she had seen the Borg's worry.

"She missed her mother," she added. For good measure.

Seven's features darkened and she began to reply, but B'Elanna raised a hand.  
  
"Don't bother, Seven. I'm not buying it anymore and neither are you." The young Klingon sighed and softened her voice. "It's not logical or rational or…" She swallowed hard. "…or even obedient, Seven. Love just is, okay? You can't stop loving Mizati. And she won't ever stop loving you."

B'Elanna retrieved something from Mizati's hand and presented it to the Borg, lifting it in her outstretched palm. Seven looked at the flat object—a playing card—and recognized herself instantly in the crudely accessorized picture of the queen of hearts.

She gingerly lifted the card out of B'Elanna's hand.  
  
"It is a representation of...me," she whispered wonderingly.  
  
"Mizati carries it in her pocket every day. She came back to get it at 0300, when she realized it was missing."

The baby in Seven's arms chose that moment to sigh and stir, announcing her wakefulness with a sleepy giggle and a loud smacking of her lips. Seven looked down at the infant with a look somewhere between surprise and tenderness and something inside her shattered quietly, like sunlight tinkling across windchimes. She felt relieved and…lighter, somehow. As if the gravity of the ship had changed and she was no longer bound to the deck plating.

Seven scooped the squirming child out of the sling and held her up, a smile tinting her lips and dancing in her eyes. After a moment, she pressed her lips to the baby's forehead and settled her against her shoulder, allowing the little one to burrow as close as she desired.  
  
"Seven...?" B'Elanna knew something had changed for the younger woman, something fundamental. But she didn't know what or how. She sat forward slightly until she realized Mizati was still asleep in her lap.

The eight-year-old stirred, rubbing one eye with a balled fist. She looked up at Seven sleepily, more than a little confused. Where were Naomi and Ensign Wildman? She looked around, instantly recognizing the cargo bay yet oblivious to how she had gotten there.

"Mama?" she asked.

The room stilled. B'Elanna looked at Seven, waiting, and Seven looked at Mizati, caught between two reactions. Finally, the lithe blonde kneeled in front of the rocking chair.

"Yes, I am here," she said, softly acknowledging—and returning—the child's love for the first time.

Mizati did not blink an eye, satisfied that all was as it should be—except, of course, for her current location. Before she could formulate the proper questions to ask, Seven held out a hand to her.

"It is time for you to regenerate now, Mizati. We will talk after my duty shift."

The little girl took the offered hand. "Yes, Mama," she said, smiling. 

Seven turned to her Klingon friend.

"B'Elanna, would you—?" The young Borg held the infant out to the engineer.

"Sure." B'Elanna scooped the little one into her arms. "Come here, Batatita," she said, tickling the baby's tummy, making her giggle.

Seven cocked her head to one side, raising an inquisitive optical implant.

"'Batatita'," she repeated. "A small sweet potato. A descriptive designation and one that is strangely similar to the name I have chosen for my…this child."

The Klingon blinked. "A name? You've chosen a name? What? When?"

"I have been researching names and naming practices for some time, however, I have only recently begun to understand their true power and importance. Therefore—with this name—I have chosen to honor someone whose actions spoke of strength in the face of opposition, compassion in the face of prejudice, and love in the face of hatred."

"You're naming her Kathryn, aren't you?" smiled B'Elanna knowingly. "After Janeway."

"No," replied Seven. "Though I do see the reasoning behind such a choice."

"Then…who?" B'Elanna settled the infant expertly in the cradle of her arms. "Come on, Seven! The suspense is killing me!"

Vividly blue eyes softened with liquid tenderness and the light of a newly opened heart.

"The child's name is B'Etal Nueves."

Only the deepest, most primitive maternal instinct kept B'Elanna from dropping B'Etal in pure, unadulterated shock.

"B'Etal?" she whispered. "Her name is…?"

"B'Etal Nueves, named for B'Etal of the House of K'mDoQ, mother of Miral of the House of K'mDoQ, mother of B'Elanna Torres of the _Starship Voyager_."

Seven saw the disbelief and confusion in her friend's eyes.

"When your mother petitioned the House Council for permission to marry Enrique Torres, a Human," she explained, "B'Etal alone approved the match. When the House Council stripped Miral of her familial name and banished her for her choice, B'Etal alone continued to speak to her, against direct orders. When you were born, B'Etal alone attended your mother and you during the wan'Ihuq'wI, the Rite of Transition."

"Without your grandmother's intervention," concluded Mizati thoughtfully, having listened to the entire conversation with rapt attention, "it is quite likely that you would not exist today!" She looked up at Seven. "I like my sister's name, Mama."

B'Elanna felt tears well in her eyes and she turned away from Seven and the little girl, hiding the unfamiliar emotional response from them. She looked down at B'Etal, smiling through her tears, wondering how so seemingly small a thing as a name could make her feel so…happy…astounded…and loved. The power of a name was obviously something she, too, had underestimated.

"I like it, too," she said, giving the baby a finger to tug on.

Mizati stole a glance at her mother and then at her friend as silence enveloped them, full to bursting with things unsaid. She gave Seven's hand a tug to get her attention and then gestured with her eyes toward B'Elanna, releasing her mother's hand at the same time. She could not have been clearer about her wishes had she spoken them aloud.

Seven's eyes followed Mizati's gaze and then looked back, nodding slightly, hesitantly, suddenly bereft of the confidence she wore as armor. She stepped close to B'Elanna and reached out, placing her right hand—her Human hand—gently and carefully on her shoulder.

The effect was astonishing.

It was as if the heat of B'Elanna's skin became a living entity, rushing through the connection of Seven's fingertips to infect her systemically. The sensation careened like a river of light along her nerve endings and in her blood, making her head ring with the thunder of her own heartbeat.

B'Elanna turned, her wide chestnut eyes revealing that she, too, could feel what Seven felt. That she was not immune to it and could no more ignore its existence than the existence of gravity.

"B'Elanna…"

Dark fingers darted forward, gently silencing Seven with a touch along her lips. They moved, then, to the nape of the Borg's neck and cupped it, pulling her closer.

B'Elanna's intention was clear and precise. There was no doubt, no hesitancy, no fear.

Only a certain longing and a…

__Chirp._ _

__"Janeway to Seven of Nine."_ _

Startled, B'Elanna and Seven leapt apart like teens caught in a forbidden embrace. Mizati, meanwhile, rolled her eyes and wondered how the Captain had ever survived to her current age with such an appalling sense of timing.

* * *

"You wished to see me, Captain?"  
  
Kathryn Janeway smiled at her early morning visitor and gestured for her to sit down.  
  
"Yes, Seven. And although I am well aware that you prefer to stand, I think you might want to sit down for this."  
  
The young woman nodded, promptly and primly settling herself on the edge of the offered chair.  
  
"I see," she said evenly. "This discussion is to be of a disciplinary nature."  
  
Janeway frowned slightly and quirked a confused grin. "No, Seven. Not at all. Where on Earth did you get that idea?"  
  
"78.33% of the times you have specifically requested that I sit in your ready room have been for disciplinary discussions. It was a 'safe bet'."  
  
Janeway blinked.  
  
"Well...I'll be more aware of that tendency in the future, that's for sure." She shook her head a little, hoping she would be able to have future conversations with Seven without wondering what behavioral statistic she was affecting. "However, I asked you here to talk about the children. Specifically Mizati."  
  
Seven frowned much in the same way as Samantha Wildman did when discussing Naomi's few misadventures.  
  
"Tell me what she has done and I will see that it does not occur again."  
  
"No, no, Seven, it's nothing like that." Janeway stood and came around her desk to perch on the corner. "She hasn't done anything wrong. She and I simply had an interesting...talk...the other day and I just wanted to touch base with you, to see how this assignment is working out."  
  
The sudden wariness that radiated from the Borg was not lost on the captain.  
  
"This...assignment?"  
  
"Yes, assignment. I didn't really give you much choice in the matter, did I? Chakotay and I both ordered you to become and to remain the children's mentor and caretaker."  
  
"Perhaps I felt it was an assignment—initially. However, I do not view it as such any longer. Any 'reassignment' of these duties would be met with resistance, Captain." She looked up at her own mentor with eyes as hard and cold as steel. "With force, if necessary."  
  
Janeway took a slow, deep breath and leveled a 'Force 10' look at the woman she considered to be both student and friend.  
  
"Are you threatening me, Seven?" she asked coolly.  
  
The young woman did not flinch or waver. If anything, her eyes became darker, dancing with ice-blue flames.  
  
"You are my Captain and the center of my collective. I am aware of the risks of such an action. You are also my mentor and my friend. Regardless of the risks involved, these things and your importance to me would—under normal circumstances—preclude me from threatening to use force against you. However, the children…have become… _are_ my family. I do not wish to lose them."  
  
Janeway considered Seven's words. "I think I understand your meaning," she said cautiously. "Placing the children in the care of another member of this crew would, no doubt, be painful and detrimental to everyone concerned. You obviously…care…about them a great deal. However, if Mizati's or the infant's parents or relatives come for them, what then? Are you prepared to let Mizati and the infant return to their people?"

Sadness flooded Seven's eyes before she could lower them from Kathryn's gaze.

"I…I do not know, Kathryn. The thought of that event causes me to feel certain emotions I am only now learning to manage. Anger…fear…pain…" She silently implored the captain with uncertain eyes. "Please do not ask me to deceive you. I cannot answer your query accurately."

At that moment, Kathryn Janeway realized that Mizati's perception of Seven as Mother was not a one-way street. Regardless of whether or not Seven could articulate such a conviction, she certainly believed it—right down to her very core.

Janeway leaned forward and put a comforting hand on the young woman's arm.

"Seven, I'm not asking these questions to cause you pain. That's the last thing I want to do when you are just discovering these wonderful relationships." Seven clenched her jaw and the auburn-haired woman sighed.

"I don't want to see you hurt," she continued finally. "Can you understand that? I only want to protect you."

"Like you did when iCheb was taken from me? When Ixan and Rebi returned to their family?" Seven's eyes were empty of ire and her voice was soft, but her words cut like a Klingon d'ktahg. "Like you protected me when One died?"

"Seven, I—" Kathryn straightened in alarm.

"You cannot protect me, Kathryn, despite your desire to do so. Even if you could, I would not wish it. I do not merely 'care for' _my_ children; I love them. The form of protection you offer would require I sever that love and all that accompanies it for fear of personal damage."

Seven stood.

"You have been a great teacher, Kathryn. I have learned many valuable lessons regarding Humanity from you. However, B'Elanna Torres has taught me that love cannot be controlled or denied, regardless of what I wish. She has taught me that I can continue to disregard my feelings, leaving me only anger and devastation when events beyond my control affect my family, or that I can embrace what I feel without fear. Events beyond my control will still affect my family and I may mourn a loss, but memories of my love and happiness will temper the pain."

Seven took a breath and calmed herself, linking her hands behind her back in their customary position.

"As my eldest daughter, Mizati, would say, 'the equation is simple.' Which would you prefer, Captain? The memory of joy or its continual absence?"

Kathryn's mind wheeled. She wanted to run from the truth that cut so closely to the bone but she was, after all, in her own ready room. She couldn't very well leave.

"That is a valuable lesson, Seven," she said finally, her voice deep and sad.

Seven raised the implant over her left eye. "You are correct. Perhaps you, too, should learn from it." The young woman dismissed herself before Janeway could, stopping at the door just before she left.

"One more thing, Captain."

Not trusting herself to speak, Janeway raised both of her eyebrows in inquiry.

"Permission to add a name to the crew roster of _Voyager_?"

"The…" She corrected herself with a shake of her head. "Your youngest?"

Seven nodded precisely, completely unable to hide the smile in her eyes at the wording of the question.

"Granted," said Janeway. "What have you chosen?"

"B'Etal Seonaid Nueves," she said matter-of-factly, then turned and left.

As if it were perfectly commonplace to name a Raadamani/Borg child with a Klingon first name, an Irish middle name, and a surname consisting solely of the Spanish spelling of the number nine.

* * *

"What?!"

Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres jumped, her voice ringing out in the suddenly silent engineering department. She glared at the owner of the hand that had startled her out of her musings.

Vorik raised a curious Vulcan eyebrow but prudently removed the offending hand.

"Forgive the disruption to your thoughts, Lieutenant," he apologized. "I merely wished to know if you would like to proceed with the second phase of the diagnostic."

From the looks she was getting from the other wide-eyed crewmembers, B'Elanna assumed it wasn't the first time Vorik had attempted to get her attention. She scowled, hoping anger might mask the flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks.

_Dammit, Klingon, what are you doing? Get a grip!_

"Go ahead," she said, straightening from her console. "Let me know what you find, okay? Apparently the oxygen stopped on the way to my brain or something. I can't concentrate."

"Perhaps that is because your shift has exceeded 17 hours," noted Vorik.

Although no one would ever accuse Vorik, a Vulcan, of harboring anything but the purest logic for anyone, he did—sometimes—seem to harbor a little _more_ logic where B'Elanna was concerned. Many thought it a residual effect of the _pon farr_ he had once initiated with the chief engineer.

"17 hours." B'Elanna blinked at Vorik, seemingly unable to process that bit of information.

"17 hours and 23 minutes…to be exact."

"Yeah, well…there was the EPS manifold repair and the plasma injector realignment…" _Seventeen hours? No wonder I feel like the bottom of a Targ cage._

"…and…and maybe I should just call it a night."

Vorik raised an eyebrow.

"It's not night, is it?" asked B'Elanna softly, hoping the others, who had gone back to their tasks, would not hear the question.

"It is 1430, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna put her hand briefly over her eyes then moved it upward to massage her ridges.

"Then I guess I have to get something for lunch _before_ I call it a night," she muttered on her way out of the department.

Once the doors had shut behind her, the young Klingon leaned heavily against a handy bulkhead, shaking her head in disbelief. It had been nearly three weeks since she'd almost kissed Seven and she could still think of nothing else. All the work in the Universe couldn't drown out the sensations, the images in her mind. She knew because she'd tried.

A brief and brutal confrontation with a rogue Hirogen hunting party had given her a perfect excuse in the beginning. Everyone was pulling double shifts after the attack was over, trying to bring _Voyager_ back up to running speed. Now, it seemed she was the only one still pulling doubles.

_And half the time I don't even realize it._

She chuckled darkly and pushed herself off the wall, heading down the corridor. With any luck, she'd be able to pick up a small meal, go back to her quarters, and fall into the bed with no other thought than taking her boots off before she passed out.

"Deck 2," she said once inside the turbolift. She really, really hoped that the mess hall was quiet at this time of day. Unfortunately, her hopes were dashed as soon as the turbolift door opened and she heard a high-pitched screech coming from that direction. She briefly wondered what kind of animal Neelix was killing before the origin of sound clicked in her brain.

"B'Etal," she breathed, taking off at a dead run. She burst into the community room ready to do battle but—except for Neelix and his screaming charge—the place was empty. B'Elanna didn't wonder why.

"Neelix?"

The tufted Talaxian stopped his cooing and pacing to look up.

"Oh, B'Elanna! How are you?" He smiled as he continued to rock the unhappy baby, though his smile seemed to sag a little at the edges. "Can I get you something?"

"Let me take her," she said, reaching for B'Etal.

"But I've called—"

B'Elanna ignored his protests and took the baby, blanket and all. B'Etal continued to wail until she was settled in the Klingon's arms, whereupon she hiccuped twice, whimpered, then promptly fell asleep.

Neelix blinked, thunderstruck. "How did you _do_ that?" He looked as though he thought B'Elanna could be either a devil or an angel. "She's been crying for hours! I tried everything I could think of to get her to sleep!"

"Hours? You've had her up here for hours?" B'Elanna thought she'd cry too if she had to stay in the mess hall for an entire day.

"Seven asked me to watch her. She and Ensign Wildman both had duty today and the children are in class with Commander Chakotay." A brighter smile passed over his features. "I didn't mind watching her. Lunch was a little slow today."

B'Elanna forced herself not to roll her eyes. Then she got an idea.

"Well, since I'm off duty now, I'll just take this little monster down to cargo bay 2, okay?" She looked around, spotting a bottle and a few toys lying on one of the dining tables. "I'll just grab her stuff here," she said, piling the things on the baby's feet. B'Etal remained undisturbed.

"But—"

"Trust me, Neelix. If this kid wakes up again and starts howling like a stuck sehlat, your dinner rush is going to suffer. And I know how much you like to…uh…cook." She scooped up B'Etal's spare blanket and threw it over her shoulder, scanning the room for any straggler items. "I don't mind getting her out of your hair."

"But—"

"See you later, Neelix," said B'Elanna cheerfully, heading out the doors.

When they shut behind her, Neelix sighed.

"But Seven is on her way to pick up the baby," he explained patiently…to no one.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres sighed as she settled herself into the rocking chair in the empty cargo bay. Although she had been dropping by to see the children…and Seven…on occasion over the last three weeks, she was careful to make those visits in the deep of the night, when they were all regenerating. But watching a child sleep and holding that child in your arms while she slept were two completely different things. Something B'Elanna hadn't fully understood until now.

It had been almost three weeks since she had held B'Etal. Or Mizati, for that matter. Three weeks too long. She found it extremely surprising that she could miss simple things, like the weight of B'Etal in her arms or the sweet smell of her skin. She wondered idly if her own mother had ever felt such things.

And Mizati…

Mizati in sleep was a totally different being. Although angelic while engaged in regeneration, B'Elanna found herself missing the little girl's brutal honesty, bright smile, and fondness for handholding.

"Humph," she grumbled, looking down at B'Etal, tracing the remains of her cranial implant with dark and gentle fingers. "What'cha think about that, kiddo? You think this Klingon's gone soft?"

B'Etal didn't answer…only smacked her tiny lips in a sleepy mimic of her suckling skills. B'Elanna nearly melted right out of the chair.

"Oh yeah," she whispered. "I've gone soft, all right." B'Elanna's grin faded into a sad frown as she thought of how 'soft' she'd really become. After all, she'd fallen in love with more that just a couple of kids. She'd also fallen for their mother.

A Borg, no less.

"Kahless," sighed the engineer, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. "Help me out here, kiddo, won'cha? I can't keep feeling like this." She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the baby's forehead, exhausted and more emotionally vulnerable than she'd felt in a long time.

"Help me, jupHom," she pleaded softly. "Help me forget about Seven before I do something stupid."

B'Etal slept on, completely oblivious to her guardian's quiet crisis. B'Elanna chuckled ruefully, slightly embarrassed by the confidences she'd just shared with an infant. Grateful that no one had overheard her foolishness, she leaned her head against the chair back and rocked herself to sleep.

Only when Seven was certain B'Elanna was deeply asleep did she slip quietly away from the archway where she'd overheard everything. She stopped briefly at the cargo bay doors and looked back at the Klingon for a long moment before finally leaving.

She walked purposefully and yet aimlessly through the corridors, wondering for the third time in her young life how the same muscle that sustained her biological functioning through the efficient distribution of blood to the rest of her body could be so easily damaged.

And why, once inflicted, the damage seemed impossible to repair.

* * *

Harry Kim loved everything about the gamma shift.  
  
He loved the quiet of the bridge and the night watch lighting. He loved the throb of the warp core beneath his feet and the vast expanses of uninhabited space that flowed past the forward viewscreen. And he especially loved sitting in his chair.  
  
Or more specifically, he especially loved sitting in Captain Janeway's chair.

A still-boyish smile crinkled his almond-shaped eyes.

_Sometimes I think that's the only reason I want to get back to the Alpha Quadrant_ , he thought, gently chiding himself. _So I can get my own chair._  
  
He stifled a yawn just then and checked the ops monitor to his left just for show. He didn't expect to see anything interesting on it, he just wanted to seem as if he was doing something useful. It obligingly told him that holodeck one was in use, that 15 replicator rations had been used there in the last 90 minutes, and that the Doctor had issued a ship-wide memo regarding the most energy efficient remedies for the common hangover.  
  
 _Tom's party at Fairhaven,_ he remembered suddenly, feeling a twinge of regret that he wasn't able to attend. Although there was nowhere in the Universe he'd rather be at the moment, Harry knew better than anyone else that the gamma shift was usually significantly less interesting than one of Tom's parties.  
  
"Sir?" The young blonde at the helm interrupted Harry's musings, her fingers suddenly alive over her console. "I'm reading something on long-range scanners. Approximately 810,000 kilometers ahead, bearing 012, mark 30."  
  
Harry stood. "A ship?"  
  
Jenkins shook her head. "Unknown, sir. I'm getting conflicting readings." She made a few more calculations and attempted to strengthen the long-range sensors. "Whatever it is, it's on an intercept course."  
  
"All stop," said Harry, glancing at the pilot. "Hail them."  
  
"They're responding, sir," said the young Bolian at tactical.  
  
"On screen," said Harry as he straightened his tunic.  
  
The faces of two of the most Human looking inhabitants of the Delta Quadrant Harry had ever seen filled the viewscreen. Certainly, they had narrower features and perhaps a different cranial structure, but all in all, they looked Human. Even the male on the right, who sported golden eyes and long earlobes.

Apparently the similarities weren't lost on them, either. They looked at Harry and Jenkins and then at each other. Quizzical smiles pulled at their mouths.

"Kiir la-aas? Dai-mani ta?" they asked together. Their voices complimented each other, blending in a simple yet elegant harmony.

Harry smiled stiffly at the aliens. He continued to smile at them even as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"What's wrong with the translator?"

Jenkins glanced up at the acting captain and shrugged as discretely as she could.

_Great_ , thought Harry, still smiling though what he really wanted to do was roll his eyes. He cleared his throat and lifted one hand in salute.

"Hello," he said, over-enunciating almost criminally. "I am Harry Kim. This is the _USS Voyager_." He almost added _We come in peace_ before catching himself.

The two aliens did not seem to understand Harry any better than he understood them. They winced at the sound of his voice but otherwise made no answer. After a strained silence, Harry made the motion to cut transmission. A chirrup later the aliens' faces were replaced by the view of their ship.

"Report," he snapped.

"The universal translator is online and functioning well within parameters. Apparently there is insufficient data for it to translate this particular language," replied Jenkins.

"Their vessel seems to be made up of a cluster of independent vessels functioning as one, sir," added the Bolian. "Each spherical unit is capable of disengaging from the whole without compromising its own or the remaining vessels' capabilities." His blue fingers swept over his console. "I detect weapons systems but they are not powered up." He looked at Harry. "There is no match in our database for these types of vessels."

"That's what I was afraid of," sighed the ensign. He looked at the captain's chair mournfully for a moment, then tapped his communicator. Before he got the request to speak to the captain out of his mouth, however, his brain seemed to take a detour.

"Computer, locate Mr. Neelix."

__"Mr. Neelix is in holodeck one."_ _

Harry smiled. Maybe his luck was turning around.

He took his seat and tapped his communicator again.

_"Mr. Neelix, please report to the bridge."_

After the briefest of hesitations, Neelix responded.

_"On my way, Acting Captain Kim, sir!"_ he said, sounding about ten feet tall…even over the communications network. While he waited, Harry idly wondered if the diminutive Talaxian would salute him or not upon arrival.

And which of the two he would prefer.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres was the last senior officer to arrive in the conference room, having found it exceedingly difficult to pull herself out of bed on what was supposed to be a day off for her. In fact, she'd found it difficult to get out of bed on most days lately. Something she attributed—grudgingly—to the distance growing between herself and Seven of Nine.  
  
The young ex-Borg—whom B'Elanna noticed was conspicuously absent from these proceedings—had retreated back into her "efficient" personality, restricting her interaction with the engineer to the wholly professional. Which hurt more than B'Elanna could ever have imagined.

_I told you this would happen, Klingon_ , she growled inwardly. _What made you think that she would ever want to be with you?_  
  
"Let's get started," said Janeway, unknowingly interrupting the young engineer's dark thoughts. She waited for B'Elanna to take her seat before beginning the meeting but Neelix beat her to the punch.  
  
"This is all my fault!" said the agitated morale officer. "I should have kept my big mouth shut. I should have used this stupid brain before I said anything!"  
  
B'Elanna scowled, covering her concern for the Talaxian with a typical Klingon reaction. She had never seen Neelix so hard on himself.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked, looking from Neelix to Janeway and back.  
  
"Mr. Neelix, I fail to see the benefit of placing the blame with anyone," counseled Tuvok.  
  
"Well how would you feel if you'd—"  
  
"Enough!" Janeway thunked her coffee cup on the table before her like a gavel. "No one is blaming anyone, Neelix. There is no way we could have prepared for this. We just have to move on from here."  
  
"Move on from where?" asked Tom Paris, looking more than lost. B'Elanna was mildly relieved to see that she wasn't the only one in the room who didn't have a clue as to what was going on.  
  
Janeway sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment. "The merchant vessel that Mr. Kim made first contact with at 0200 this morning is Pod Boi-Ovani..."

She took a deep breath and glanced briefly at her Klingon officer.

"...of the Raadamani," she finished quietly.  
  
The color drained from B'Elanna's features so quickly that the Doctor became instantly alarmed.  
  
"Lieutenant—" B'Elanna aborted his inquiry with a raised hand. She never took her eyes from Janeway's.  
  
"What?"  
  
"They saw an opportunity to trade with us and intercepted our course. The universal translator had trouble with their language and rather than disturb Commander Chakotay or myself, Mr. Kim decided to call upon Neelix for assistance." Janeway looked at the Talaxian sympathetically. "That's when we discovered they were Raadamani."

"So that's it, then?" asked Tom. "They get to take Bet? Just like that?" Bet, short for Betty Borg, was the helmsman's nickname for the youngest member of _Voyager'_ s crew. Like many on board, he had grown rather protective of the remaining Borg children. The fact that the youngest of them had been named in honor of his ex-lover's grandmother was merely incidental.

He looked around the table. "Who's going to tell Seven?"

"I am."

All eyes turned to B'Elanna who stared blankly at the tabletop, her voice quiet and resolved. She finally lifted her eyes, finding the captain's and locking gazes with her. "It should come from me."

Janeway hesitated, making a quick mental note of the tone of B'Elanna's offer. Then she shook her head.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," she explained. "This has become something more than just returning B'Etal to her people."

"How so?" Every fiber of B'Elanna's being was alert, her muscles clenching with murderous intent. Something in the captain's bearing was making her incisors itch.

Janeway nodded to her first officer.

"Once we determined who our visitors were and the universal translator had an adequate sample of their language, we were able to learn more about the Raadamani," began Chakotay. "Apparently they are in the midst of a civil war. One that they have been fighting for over 20 years."

"We can't interfere in the civil war of a non-Federation culture," said Tom, his brows bunching up over his eyes. "That's against the Prime Directive."

"Agreed, Mr. Paris," said Tuvok. "However, this circumstance is…complex."

"Pod Boi-Ovani can claim custody of B'Etal based on the fact that she is—or rather was—Raadamani," began Chakotay.

"But…?" The other shoe was dangling by a thread. B'Elanna felt it in her blood.

"But genetically she differs from this pod by a margin of 49%," said the Doctor.

"So?" said Tom. "She's not their kid. Or even a kid of their kid. What difference does it make?"

"It makes a lot of difference," said Harry, speaking up finally. "Particularly when their civil war is based on racial and genetic disparities."

"Meaning?"

"I have talked with the Lead Pair of this pod extensively regarding their war," said Tuvok, addressing B'Elanna. "Because they are nomadic isolationists with no known permanent homeworld, the Raadamani value one thing above all else: the survival of their children. Of this pod of 173 individuals, only 4 children of the 11 born in the last two years have survived. The others were casualties of the war, specifically targeted by their opponents."

"Children?!" Tom was one of the four original crewmembers who had been affected by a malfunctioning war memorial not long ago. Instead of being shown a simple memory of a horrible war crime committed in the distant past, he had lived through the disjointed nightmare as one of the participants. Among the slaughtered were children, something that haunted him to this day. "They target each other's children?"

Tuvok nodded. "It would appear so." His features, though expressionless, darkened appreciatively. "If we return B'Etal to this pod there is a significant probability that she, too, will become a casualty of this war."

"Great Bird protect us all," muttered Neelix plaintively. His eyes were wet with tears.

"Wait, wait, wait!" B'Elanna looked at her captain. "You said they wanted to trade with us, that that's why they intercepted our course. If they don't know she's on board then—"

"But they do!" shouted Neelix, pounding the table with both fists. "Don't you see?! I _told_ them she was here before I knew about…about…" He couldn't finish the thought. "…and now they want custody!" The Talaxian dissolved into sobs. "It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault…"

"Captain?" The Doctor raised both eyebrows at the compact auburn-haired woman and she nodded. Soon after, the holographic medical officer was assisting Neelix out of the conference room.

"Neelix?" The Talaxian and the Doctor both turned at B'Elanna's voice. "It's not your fault. I promise."

When the conference room door closed behind her two crewmembers, Kathryn Janeway turned to the ones who remained. "I want options, people, and I want them now."

Only silence answered her. And then the gentle click of metal against wood.

"I'll need a shuttle, some dilithium reserves, three additional survival packs, three hand phasers, and two phaser rifles," said B'Elanna, unpinning her Maquis pip and laying it on the table next to her communicator. "And a few hours to get Carey up to speed in Engineering."

"What exactly are you suggesting, Lieutenant?" asked Janeway with an iron glare.

"Just B'Elanna, ma'am," corrected the young Klingon. "I'm resigning my commission. I'll take Seven and the kids with me."

An instant of shock roiled into protests from all sides.

"What?! B'Elanna, are you nuts?" "I don't believe this!" "The ship needs you, you can't do this!" "What about Earth? What about getting home?"

The last questions—the ones asked by Chakotay—were the ones B'Elanna answered.

"Earth? What's left for me there, Chakotay? For any of us?" She looked around the room. "Our Maquis friends are gone. My mother is dead. The Federation will probably put us into prison once the fanfare of our arrival has died down. And what about Seven? Or the kids? They're Borg! Starfleet will tear them apart and every one of you knows it! At least this way we have a fighting chance." She took a breath and looked Chakotay dead in the eyes. "And B'Etal doesn't have to become a victim of a war she isn't even old enough to remember!"

"Enough!" barked Janeway. "Put your insignia back on, Lieutenant," she ordered. "I'm not accepting resignations today. Especially from one of my best officers." Steel gray eyes swept the conference room. "We're going to find another way to resolve this dilemma, people. One that avoids resignations, defying the Prime Directive, and/or firing on those ships. And one that specifically avoids B'Etal becoming a casualty of war. Understood?"

"That's a pretty tall order, Captain," noted Tom.

"Then I suggest you get to work. Dismissed."

As her staff rose to leave, Kathryn called softly to her chief engineer.

"Not so fast, Lieutenant," she said. "I'd like a word with you."

_Oh damn_ , thought Chakotay, glancing over his shoulder as he exited the conference room.B'Elanna—standing at attention as she awaited the lecture that was sure to come—was the last sight he saw before the doors closed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The doors to cargo bay 2 whooshed open, admitting a slightly breathless Naomi Wildman who—upon seeing the very unexpected and unwelcome sight of Seven of Nine at her workstation—immediately began to back up. Though Naomi considered Seven to be her very best friend, she was absolutely the last person on the ship she wanted to see right now. Unfortunately she wasn't quite fast enough to avoid her.

"Naomi Wildman," said Seven of Nine, stopping the child in her tracks.

"Uh...hi, Seven," said Naomi with a toothy grin designed specifically to hide her anxiety. "I thought you had duty today."

"Your attempt to 'cover your tracks' is futile, Naomi Wildman. Please give me the isolinear chips you are carrying."

Naomi's face fell and she looked around the residential area of the cargo bay, noticing Mizati and iCheb looking glum and guilty at their smaller workstations. The strawberry blond scowled and reached into the pocket of her tunic.

"How did you know?" she asked, placing the three green chips into Seven's hand.

"The Collective does not require deception," explained the Borg. "Perhaps you should have taken that data into consideration before assigning iCheb and Mizati their roles in this 'mission'."

Naomi narrowed her eyes and pinned Mizati—the likeliest culprit—with a scathing glare.

"You _told_ her?"

Mizati seemed somewhat confused...and more than a little upset. "She asked," replied the eight-year-old defensively. "I told her only that we were attempting to steal a shuttlecraft. I did not tell her why."

Seven frowned, suddenly realizing that very fact. But she was nothing if not adaptable.

"Correct," she said, closing her fingers around the isolinear chips and gazing at her young friend. "I have reserved that duty for you...as the 'mission commander'."

Naomi just blinked. "Then you don't know about the Raadamani?" she blurted.

_Pale_ was a word that had often been employed in descriptions of Seven of Nine, former Borg drone. Until just this moment it had been a gross understatement.

"Elaborate," she demanded, managing to speak the word despite the sudden constriction of her larynx.

Naomi shared another look with Mizati, this one pregnant with concern and sadness. Then she joined Seven at her work station, small fingers manipulating the console until the portable viewscreen usually used in conjunction with iCheb's and Mizati's lessons lit up with a view of the strange vessel off _Voyager_ 's bow.

"It's a Raadamani ship," said Naomi softly, hardly daring to look Seven in the eyes. "I heard Ensign Jenkins talking about it in the mess hall this morning. She said they're here for B'Etal."

Seven almost didn't react. There was silence certainly...and a delicate shudder. But nothing else.

The young blond turned to her workstation, her long fingers beginning a sequence of commands.

"I see," she said flatly.

"Then you understand why it was necessary for us to acquire a shuttlecraft," concluded Mizati. She nodded resolutely. "We now require your assistance to complete the task."

"My assistance is irrelevant. Your task has already failed."

iCheb stood slowly. "Elaborate," he requested warily. "How can our task have failed before we have attempted it?"

"Because I have sent a detailed description of your plans to Commander Tuvok via intraship communications," said Seven nonchalantly. "No doubt security will arrive momentarily."

Now Mizati stood, drawing herself to her full height and endeavoring to look as menacing as an eight-year-old could.  
  
"And if Commander Tuvok takes my sister, what will you do?"  
  
"I will comply," stated Seven without emotion.  
  
"Without protest?" asked iCheb angrily.  
  
"Without protest."  
  
"But Seven, you named her!" said a startled Naomi. "This is her home!"  
  
"The Raadamani are certain to disagree. For most species, the custody of their subunits depends on biological and genetic similarities rather than emotional bonds. I do not see why the Raadamani would believe any differently."

"Yet these issues did not prevent you from opposing my parent's claim of custody," iCheb pointed out. "You risked this ship and its crew to rescue me yet you will allow the Raadamani to reclaim B'Etal? Do you not wish for her to remain in your care?"

"Merely 'wishing' for a particular set of circumstances will not cause them to materialize, iCheb." Seven's suddenly sharp voice was the first real indication that she was indeed hurting over this news. "Though I wish for B'Etal to remain with us I cannot alter the captain's decision if she determines the Raadamani would make fit caretakers for her."

"Cannot or will not?" Mizati's anger was a visceral thing. If Seven was so compliant when faced with B'Etal's reclamation, what would stop her from being similarly compliant if and when the Norkadians came to claim Mizati? The little girl _knew_ that Seven loved B'Etal, that Seven wanted her to stay. What she didn't understand was why her mother wasn't fighting for it.

"Irrelevant." Seven shot the child an icy glare.

"It is a valid question, Mother," said iCheb sternly. "Your choice does not seem logical."

"I opposed your parents' custodial claim because of their intent to have you assimilated a second time. Your life was in danger. I did _not_ oppose the claim of the Family Cugai for Ixan and Rebi because I—"

"Ixan and Rebi _chose_ to return to their biological family!" Mizati balled her fists at her sides in an unconscious mimic of her favorite engineer. "B'Etal is not capable of making such a choice! _You_ must represent her best interests as her mother! Her best interests are here! With us!"

"Mizati—" Naomi edged close to her younger friend, hoping to calm her. She had never seen Mizati so angry. The little girl stepped away from her.

"My biological parents are constructs, facts, data stored in my cortical implant," she said, still addressing Seven. "I did not know them. I do not remember them. I do not want to live with them. _This_ is my home. _You_ are my mother. I require no more!"

The child's breath came in short, sharp pants until she managed to regain a measure of control over her respiration. The steel in her eyes rivaled even Seven's best glare.

"Will you be so compliant when the Norkadians come to take me?" she asked coldly, finally getting to the heart of her distress. "Will you let strangers take both your daughters from you?"

The words stung with the intensity of a physical blow.

"I am one…alone," replied Seven, her voice hesitant and unsure. "My will in this matter is insufficient to—"

"You are not one alone!" shouted iCheb. "We are your collective! We support each other!"

Mizati turned without a word and stalked toward the cargo bay doors.

"Where are you going?" demanded Seven of Nine.

"Your concept of your family unit and your place within it has degraded. You have been damaged," said the child, her gait never wavering. "Obviously Lieutenant Torres did not heed my warning regarding such an occurrence." The doors whooshed open and she stepped through them, turning and piercing everyone in the room with an icy glare. "She will learn that Borg do not exaggerate."

The clanging echo of the closing doors was the only sound to follow in Mizati's wake.

* * *

"Yes, Captain?" B'Elanna Torres stood at attention stiffly, steeling herself for whatever the compact auburn-haired woman would have to say. She'd known resigning her commission and asking for a shuttlecraft and supplies was a risk when she'd done it, but she'd also known it was the right thing to do. She hoped the captain would understand that.

"Have a seat, B'Elanna," said Kathryn, gesturing to the chair nearest her. B'Elanna nodded and took the offered seat, looking at her hands resting on the conference table's wooden surface rather than at her commanding officer.

Janeway took a moment simply to observe her Chief Engineer, attempting to discover if the inherent differences in B'Elanna's opinions and behaviors was something more than just a feeling of hers. When the silence between them finally became awkward, only then did the young Klingon/Human woman look up. Whatever questions Janeway had, she found the answers plainly painted in chestnut brown.

Her mouth quirked into a sympathetic half-smile.

"Does Seven know how you feel about her?" she asked quietly.

Chestnut eyes widened in alarm.

"Wh—"

Janeway held up a hand, halting B'Elanna's denial.

"Don't bother," she said. She looked down at the table, ran her fingers lightly along a grooved edge. "I wasn't sure I'd guessed right until I asked but the look in your eyes confirmed my suspicions." She returned her gaze to her engineer. "You love her."

It wasn't a question. B'Elanna's mouth became a desert wasteland and she could only manage a short nod of her head.

"Does she know?"

B'Elanna considered the question. Everything in her body hoped that Seven had had welcomed the turn their relationship was taking but the interrupted kiss had seemed to interrupt everything else, including their friendship. Now she didn't know what to think. She blushed, sure she had seemed more than idiotic to the Borg. It was that fear that had kept her away so long.

_But,_ she noted silently, darkly, _she hasn't exactly been around all that much herself._

"B'Elanna?" Concern touched Janeway's gentle frown.

"Yeah, I'm still here," said the Klingon quietly. "I don't know if she knows or not. We haven't exactly been…talking much lately."

Janeway sighed softly, silently lamenting the timing of this new development. She wondered if what she felt was surprise or something else. She guessed she should have seen this coming; after all, the two of them were so damned alike in some ways. But she'd always thought their differences would keep them from seeing that. The old 'forest for the trees' thing.

All in all, Janeway's immediate reaction was that they were a good match: two passionate, loyal, brilliant women searching for a place to belong in a Universe that had trouble accepting them. It wasn't their compatibility or lack of it that troubled her. It was her own protective streak. That big, ugly 'mother bear' thing that had made her risk her ship and her crew time and again in defense of Seven of Nine, the innocent she had delivered from evil. The mother bear in her saw the potential for deep pain in this turn of events and didn't like it one bit—despite her intellectual understanding that protecting Seven from such life experiences would be more detrimental in the long run.  
  
"B'Elanna," said Kathryn finally, "you know that it is my preference as the captain of _Voyager_ to refrain from interfering in the personal relationships of my crew. You also know, from personal experience," she added, "that, though reluctant, I have interfered when I have deemed it necessary."  
  
B'Elanna sat up in her chair, her hands balling into fists in front of her. Rage ignited in her eyes.  
  
Before she could even snarl a response, the startling screech of buckling metal stopped her and both she and the captain's attention snapped toward the conference room door...and the tiny, Borg-enhanced hand that was helping it to open. Shouts coming from outside ended when the crunching sound gave way to a loud POP!  
  
"Targ snouts!" yelped B'Elanna, jumping out of her chair and flinging herself halfway onto the conference table. Blue sparks snapped once or twice in the doorway followed by a weary electronic hiss and some smoke.  
  
"Tuvok to the conference room!" shouted Janeway as she bolted to her feet.  
  
The sounds of a struggle resumed but neither Janeway nor Torres could see through the smoke to assess the situation. Finally there was a loud "OWWWW!" and Harry Kim stumbled through the door, holding his shin and cursing under his breath.  
  
"She kicked me!" he whined between coughing fits. "I can't believe she kicked me!"  
  
"You were attempting to impede my progress, Harry," said Mizati, calmly entering the conference room. "Kicking you seemed the most efficient method of removing you as an obstacle."  
  
"What is the meaning of this?!" barked the usually unflappable commander of _Voyager_. Why did she always seem to come unglued when dealing with Seven's unpredictable children? Or—more importantly—why were these children so bent on driving her insane?  
  
"This does not concern you, Captain Janeway," said the child politely. She turned her icy glare to _Voyager_ 's chief engineer instead. "I have come to seek retribution from B'Elanna Torres."  
  
"Me?!" The squeak in B'Elanna's voice was wholly un-Klingon. "What in Gre'Thor did I do?"  
  
"You have damaged my mother," said Mizati darkly, bearing down on the woman. "I warned you that I had little tolerance for such things."  
  
"What??" B'Elanna tried to move away from the little girl but found herself blocked by a neighboring chair. "What are you talking about? I never touched her!" The Klingon was torn between wondering what the Hell was going on and finding Seven to make sure she was okay.  
  
"Exactly!" shouted Mizati at the top of her lungs.  
  
The confused silence that suddenly blanketed the room was shattered by the dual arrivals of Tuvok, phaser drawn and Vulcan eyebrow raised, and Naomi Wildman, visibly pale after seeing the damage to the conference room door.  
  
"May I be of assistance, Captain?" asked Tuvok. Logic told him that no amount of logic would be sufficient to guide him through this minefield of high emotion. The prudent alternative, therefore, was to take direction from his commanding officer.  
  
"Mizati!" hissed Naomi urgently, her eyes as round as deflector shields. She jerked the younger girl around to face her. "Have you blown a fuse or something?? What are you _doing_?"

"Enough!" Kathryn Janeway scrubbed at one of her temples viciously, wondering when her ship had turned into a daycare center. An unruly one at that. "I want an explanation and I want one right now!"

Five pairs of eyes blinked owlishly back at her. Not a single mouth opened.

Janeway sat down. "I'm in no hurry," she lied with forced cheerfulness. "I can wait all day, if you'd like." She leveled her patented Force 10 glare at each and every one of them. "But someone in this room," she said, baring her teeth in a menacing facsimile of a smile, "is going to explain what this is all about."

Naomi glanced at Mizati and released a sigh of resignation. Then she came to parade attention, turned to the captain, and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Seven knows the Raadamani are here for B'Etal, ma'am," she said softly. "Mizati is upset because Seven has agreed to give custody over to them."

"She _what_?" The blood drained from B'Elanna's face and she dropped, hard, into one of the conference table chairs.

"Lieutenant, calm down," ordered Janeway, grateful when Torres obediently fell silent. The captain turned to her young bridge assistant. "Naomi, are you saying Seven has been in contact with the Raadamani? That she has actually told them that she is giving them custody of B'Etal?"

The strawberry blonde shook her head. "No. She just told us that she was going to comply with your orders to return B'Etal to her people, right before she sent that message to—" Naomi stopped in mid-sentence and turned guilty eyes towards _Voyager_ 's chief of security.

"Sent what message, Naomi?" prodded Janeway. "To whom?"

"To me, Captain," replied Tuvok. "It was a description of a possible solution to the question of B'Etal's custody," he said carefully, casting stern looks at the two little girls. "It was, however, very similar to a plan we had already considered and discarded. I simply deleted the communication."

Naomi held her breath and prayed to every Ktarian water-nymph she had ever heard of that Mizati would keep her Borg mouth shut. If there was ever a time for discretion, this was it. And Naomi was painfully aware that discretion simply wasn't one of Mizati's strengths.

One heartbeat…then another…then the moment had passed. Janeway finally nodded, accepting Tuvok's explanation without question.

"How did Seven find out about the Raadamani?" asked B'Elanna softly. "I thought you hadn't told her yet." She directed the last comment to Janeway.

"I told her," admitted _Voyager_ 's first child. She looked quickly at the floor. "I overheard Ensign Jenkins talking about it in the mess hall this morning."

"Miss Wildman, you and I will be having a little talk later about sensitive information and ship-wide distribution," said Janeway admonishingly. "But frankly, we don't have the time for that right now. The Raadamani are expecting us to turn B'Etal over to them in less than—" She checked the chronometer on the wall. "—twelve hours. I'd like another option before then."

Mizati stopped glaring at B'Elanna Torres long enough to let what the captain had just said sink in to her cortical implant. "Then you are not planning to return my sister to the Raadamani?" she asked, still unsure she had heard right.

"No, I am not," confirmed the compact commanding officer. "If you two had bothered to check Ensign Jenkins' story—" Janeway stopped herself before she got on her high horse. "That's not the point. The point is I have determined it is not in your sister's best interests to go with these people. Now I simply have to convince _them_ of that—without violating the Prime Directive or firing on them."

Mizati considered that information carefully, her head tilting to one side in a very familiar fashion. Finally she refocused her eyes and looked at the captain.

"The law," she said. "The most efficient means of fulfilling those requirements is to invoke the law."

Janeway was absolutely sure of it. The Borg children were more than just children; they were a finely-crafted weapon whose primary purpose was to drive her completely out of her head.

"What law?" she asked, trying to remain patient.

"The Ulii-Marisin Decision, enacted prime in Tangent 43. When two pods vying for the custody of a child or children are equally matched in value and right and when the First Pair is unable to determine—either through unavoidable absence or the declaration of absolute equality—a victorious pod, either pod has the right to invoke the Ulii-Marisin Decision, a battle to the death to be fought by a champion of each pod's choosing. The pod of the champion who survives is declared the custodial pod. There is no appeal."

"We are not a Raadamani pod, Mizati," countered Tuvok. "It is unlikely _Voyager_ would be considered an equal match to Pod Boi-Ovani."

"If B'Etal were only Raadamani, you would be correct, Mr. Tuvok. However, 26% of her internal systems are Borg in origin." She turned to look at B'Elanna. "And she could be considered a member of the House of K'mDoQ, could she not, Lieutenant?"

The young Klingon blinked once and tried to think back to what little she knew about Great House politics and policy on Qo'noS.

"Kahless! She's right," she said after a few moments. "If a Klingon child with no House affiliation is named in tribute to a member of a Great House, it is the right of the members of the Great House so honored to choose whether or not to adopt that child and thereby grant him or her House affiliation." She grinned from ear to ear. "And as the last known living member of the House of K'mDoQ, I guess that would be up to me."

"But B'Etal isn't Klingon, B'Elanna," argued Harry, frowning in confusion.

"She is if I say she is, Starfleet," snarled B'Elanna. "And I say she is!"

Harry raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay!" he squealed. "I was just trying to help!"

"All right, _children_ , knock it off," said Janeway, interrupting the bickering before it got out of hand. "I just want to know if this is doable. Tuvok?"

"If this particular pod recognizes the authority of this law and we are able to convince them of our right to challenge them for custody, then I believe we could be successful. Providing, of course, that our champion defeats theirs in the conflict."

Janeway put up a hand to stop that line of thinking. "One step at a time, Tuvok. Let's find out if the law holds sway with them and if we can press our claim of custody first." She glanced at the others in the room. "Only then do I want to cross the bridge of the champion. Understood?"

A round of general nods answered her.

"Good. Tuvok," she ordered, "find out if this pod is bound by this Ulii-Marisin Decision and whether or not we have sufficient grounds to challenge them. Get Chakotay to assist you if you need him. Harry, you and Tom use those creative minds of yours to continue looking for other options. I want something to fall back on if this doesn't work."

"No problem, Captain." It took all of Janeway's willpower not to chuckle at her young ensign's earnestness.

"B'Elanna," she continued, "I want you down in engineering making sure the warp drive is at 100%. There've been some unconfirmed sightings of Borg cubes in the area," she said pointedly. "I want to be able to outrun them if they suddenly show up."

"I'll have Carey get right on it, Captain," replied the chief engineer, with a knowing grin. "With your permission, I'd like to let Seven know that B'Etal isn't going anywhere without a fight."

Janeway hesitated, having nearly forgotten about Seven's belief that they were simply going to hand B'Etal over to the Raadamani without so much as a look backwards.

"Granted." But she leaned across the table at her officer, gazing at her with unreadable eyes. "Just remember, B'Elanna, we haven't won this fight yet. The Raadamani might reject our challenge. They might—"

"Their ship might also suffer a massive propulsion systems overload and explode in the next thirty seconds," said B'Elanna acidly. "That still won't change the fact that B'Etal is Seven's daughter and she's staying right here!"

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Lieutenant," countered Janeway, her voice steely. "I am just asking that you temper your enthusiasm with realism. We still have a long way to go before this is over."

"Give me ten minutes and a bat'tleth and I'll make that 'long way' a heck of a lot shorter for you," offered the Klingon with a murderous growl.

"Belay that," the captain snapped. "I have enough to worry about without chasing down vigilantes from my own crew. Am I understood?"

B'Elanna glowered, looking as if she had something else to say about that, but she finally thought better of whatever was perched on her lips and sighed instead, yielding reluctantly to Janeway's better judgement.

"Understood, Captain."

"You all have your orders," said Janeway, getting to her feet. "There will be a staff meeting in exactly three hours. Make the time count. Dismissed."

As the adults exited one by one through the battered door, Janeway put her hands behind her back and called out to two young ladies who immediately looked as though they wished they had been fleeter of foot.

"Not so fast, Miss Wildman, Miss—" She stopped, momentarily flummoxed by Mizati's lack of a surname.

"Miss Nueves," supplied the child helpfully.

"Yes," agreed the captain. "Miss Nueves. Join me in my ready room, won't you? There are a few things I'd like to discuss with the two of you."

Both girls' faces fell.

"Yes, ma'am," they intoned quietly. Janeway gestured with one hand and they marched sadly out of the conference room, heads down and bodies slumped like criminals marching to the gallows. Behind them, Kathryn Janeway ruefully shook her head, then followed them out.

* * *

"iCheb!" B'Elanna spotted the young Brunali as she rounded a corner in the corridor and she hurried to catch up to him.

"B'Elanna." Relief battled with wariness on the young man's features. "Did Mizati locate you? She wished to speak with you."

B'Elanna smirked. "Which is just a nice way of saying she wanted to rip my arms out of their sockets. Yes, she found me. On the other side of the conference room door. Which she ripped out of the wall. And which you'll be helping her to fix once we've gotten out of this mess."

"I…see," he replied…in a manner that clearly said he didn't see at all. In fact, he didn't seem to even comprehend what B'Elanna was saying, appearing distracted in a way that was wholly un-Borg. His agitation finally caught B'Elanna's attention.

"Hey," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" She looked worriedly at the cargo bay doors. "Where's Seven?"

"In there," he said, pointing toward the cargo bay. "She said she wanted to spend some time with B'Etal before Captain Janeway came to retrieve her. I am going to ask the captain to ascertain whether or not the Raadamani would be willing to consider a…different arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?" asked the young Klingon, her eyes suddenly intense. Something in iCheb's voice was making the pit of her belly cold.

"Perhaps the Raadamani would prefer a fully grown male with engineering expertise to a female infant," he said haltingly yet with deep conviction. "If so, I would be willing to take B'Etal's place in this transaction."

Immense pride in this man-boy's courage temporarily stole B'Elanna's ability to speak and she impulsively pulled iCheb into a hug.

"No one's going anywhere," she said fiercely, releasing him to look squarely in his eyes. "I promise. Now, I want you to go get Mizati and Naomi and take them to the holodeck or the mess hall or something, okay? I'm gonna need a couple of minutes with Seven…to brief her on the plan."

"Do not let her coldness deceive you, B'Elanna," said iCheb somberly, indicating the cargo bay doors. "My mother is her most remote when she is…fearful." He gave the Klingon woman a shy smile. "I believed it was a trait she had acquired from her Human heritage, though I have since observed similar behavior in…other species."

"Go!" said B'Elanna, exasperated. She swatted the teen harmlessly with the flat of her palm. "Before I toss you down the corridor." He chuckled and darted away from the second mock blow, heading toward the turbolift.

The engineer gazed after him for a moment, then turned, taking one last deep breath before searching out Seven of Nine. It didn't take long to find her.

Seven was sitting in the antique rocking chair, studying B'Etal with wide, captivated eyes. The baby gurgled happily—completely oblivious to the tempest surrounding her—and reached for Seven with tiny fingers, determined to catch some of the pretty golden hair that dangled just out of her grasp.

B'Elanna, believing she was unnoticed, watched the two of them for a long moment…until Seven finally spoke, her eyes not lifting a single micrometer.

"Have you come to say goodbye to B'Etal, Lieutenant?" asked the young woman icily. "Or to take her from me?"

Anger roiled in the Klingon's belly. "B'Etal isn't going anywhere, Seven," she swore, wondering how Seven could even think she would take part in something like that. "Not as long as I'm alive."

"Impressive words," said the young Borg, finally lifting her pale, empty eyes to lock gazes with the Klingon. "However, there is a saying among Humans that makes me doubt them. 'Actions speak louder than words.' Certainly your actions have spoken louder than your words in the past."

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" demanded B'Elanna.

Ire flickered across Seven's features. "You called me 'friend' yet abandoned me when it suited you. You said you enjoyed the time you spent with the children and me and yet this is the first time you and I have spoken in more than a month. Why should I now believe what you say about B'Etal?"

The edge in Seven's voice cut B'Elanna more deeply than any blade ever could. In her pain, she fell back on the only thing she could—her honor.

"I am Klingon," she hissed, her fists balling at her sides. "My honor is proof enough!"

"Obviously," countered Seven, "your honor does not extend to Borg drones."

The hare trigger on B'Elanna's emotions instantly relaxed a notch. She recognized that rationalization. Hell, she was a master of it. How many times in her life had she lashed out at someone, blaming his or her hurtful actions on her own heritage? Echoes of that cry had chased her all the way out of Starfleet and into the Maquis. Had even chased her onto the Klingon Barge of the Dead not so very long ago.

_You treat me badly because I am a half-breed_ was so much easier to believe, to understand. Her self-loathing was even an armor of sorts, protecting her in its own strange and dysfunctional way. Saying, in essence, _You can't hurt me because I hate myself more than you ever could._

"I don't see any Borg drones in this room," she said softly, shaking her head. "Just a mother and her child."

The ache in Seven's chest at B'Elanna's words would have driven her to her knees had she been standing.

"I am no one's mother," she said bitterly. "I am Borg. While you may have forgotten that fact, I am sure the remainder of _Voyager'_ s crew has not."

"Dammit Seven, _listen_ to me! B'Etal is your daughter! Everyone believes that and no one is taking her anywhere! We have a plan now! There's a way out of all of this!"

B'Elanna's shouting woke the infant in question and she struggled against the blanket Seven had wrapped around her, loudly expressing her discontent. Seven carefully shifted the little girl to an upright position, feeling her nestle in the hollow of her neck. B'Etal's fussing subsided almost immediately but Seven's trembling fingers continued to soothe her, rubbing in circles along her back.

The ache in Seven's chest was suffocating. The shallow, humid breaths warming her skin, the soft sounds of B'Etal in sleep, the flutter of her tiny heart—it all brought tears to her eyes. Knowing that soon someone else would be comforting this being she loved so dearly, this tiny creature whose very presence had opened a place inside herself that she had never known existed…it was unbearable.

"The captain makes all decisions aboard _Voyager_ ," she whispered sadly. She wanted to believe B'Elanna but she knew better than anyone else did that Kathryn Janeway got whatever she wanted, no matter how improbable. If Janeway's orders were to hand B'Etal over to the Raadamani, Seven knew any protest—even B'Elanna's—would be futile.

"This plan is one of them!" While still adamant, B'Elanna lowered her volume significantly, reluctant to disturb B'Etal again. "Seven, this isn't like when iCheb left! Janeway doesn't want to break up your family but she has to be cautious. She doesn't want anyone to get hurt."

B'Etal chose that moment to make an unhappy sound, her tiny features turning red and squinching up as she prepared to follow the first sound with several others.

"Let me take her," said B'Elanna gently, reaching for the baby. When Seven's eyes clouded with fear, she quickly added, "I just want to hold her. I won't take her anywhere."

Seven relented and watched as B'Elanna lifted B'Etal to her chest, settling the baby against her sternum. The infant struggled for another moment then suddenly relaxed, sighing with contentment before she began sucking her fist.

"I won't let them take you, wamach'wI," promised B'Elanna softly. Then she kissed the top of B'Etal's head, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, enthralled by the fresh, clean scent of the baby's skin.

It was too much for Seven to bear. Seeing B'Elanna so tender with B'Etal, yet knowing that the Klingon would never share that tenderness with her, never feel anything for her…

"I must go," said Seven, bolting abruptly out of the rocking chair.

"What?" B'Elanna turned as the determined Astrometrics officer rushed past her. "Where are you going?"

Seven didn't answer. She simply hurried out of the cargo bay without so much as a glance backward or a single word of explanation.

"She doesn't believe me," realized B'Elanna as she stared at the closing doors. "Why doesn't she believe me?" She looked at the precious bundle cuddled under her chin. "You believe me, right kiddo?"

B'Etal, being too young to understand the question and caring only that she was warm and safe in her second mother's arms, answered B'Elanna with a yawn and a satisfied squeak.

* * *

  
  
Kathryn Janeway propped her head in one hand and lifted her lucky cup to her lips with the other. She took a sip of a steaming coffee-like substance, frowned, then dropped the cup in its saucer with a clink.  
  
 _I hate this part_ , she thought dourly. _The waiting game._ She'd already delegated all the really juicy assignments to her senior staff and even now the biosciences department was doing a work up on the first contact aspects of this whole ordeal. Which left her plenty of time to think...and to worry.

She scowled and pushed away from her desk, strolling to the huge plasteel windows that lined the far wall of her ready room. She gazed blankly out at the stars—stationary for once—and at what she could see of the cluster-type Raadamani vessel off the port bow.  
  
She hated feeling like this.  
  
Worry sat thickly in the pit of her stomach like one of Neelix's less-successful stews. Except there was no cure for worry, no magical hypospray filled with liquid blue relief.  
  
Kathryn shook her head in dismay then leaned it against the smooth, cool surface of the window.  
  
So much of what was going on were things Starfleet would never have expected to happen let alone would have thought to include in any Academy classes. How many custody battles were being fought over children freed from the Borg? How many eight-year-olds with typical eight-year-old emotional development could bend tritanium alloy in their bare hands or extrapolate subspace relay equations in their heads? How many adult Human women were just discovering the concepts of _love_ and _family_ after having spent 18 years as little more than a machine? How many Klingon/Human women, former members of a guerilla fighting force somewhat outside the law, were about to start courting a Human ex-Borg, complete with a ready-made ex-Borg family?  
  
 _Well, Katie_ , said Janeway's inner voice, which sounded disconcertingly like her younger sister, Phoebe. _You always enjoyed a challenge—just like Daddy._  
  
Janeway immediately wondered how her father, the indomitable Admiral Edward Janeway, would handle her current predicament. She laughed outright when the only image she could come up with was a picture of him calmly walking out an airlock.  
  
"Next time I ask for a challenge remind me to be more specific, Fee," she whispered, chuckling.  
  
A discreet chirrup called the auburn-haired captain back from her reminiscences. The Janeway command mask replaced her wistful smile and she straightened her shoulders, heading for her desk.  
  
"Come."  
  
The door hissed open, granting entrance to _Voyager_ 's first officer and chief of security. By the look of them, neither one was particularly happy.

_Though_ , Kathryn admitted, _with Tuvok, it's hard to tell._  
  
"Report," she said, taking her seat.

Chakotay slumped into the chair opposite her, seemingly relieved to let his larger frame relax for the moment. He nodded tersely to Tuvok, content to let the less hotheaded of the two of them begin the report.

"Pod Boi-Ovani is indeed bound by the Ulii-Marisin Decision, Captain," began the mocha-skinned Vulcan. "However, they were resistant to its application in this particular case."

"Why?"

Chakotay ran a thumb along the tribal tattoo on his forehead.

"Because we're not Raadamani?" he replied, shrugging. "I think we caught them off guard, Kathryn. I don't think they expected us to find this wormhole of opportunity."

"Indeed," agreed Tuvok. "They seemed surprised by our knowledge of their statutes and process of jurisprudence."

Chakotay took a deep breath and found his captain's steely gaze.

"There is another option, Kathryn," he said, wondering in the back of his mind why always had to play the part of devil's advocate. "The Raadamani haven't made any threats against B'Etal. They've only asked for custody."

"You're saying there's a possibility that they will take her and raise her as one of their own." She shook her head. "I've thought of that too, Chakotay, believe me. But we have to be willing to play this custody card even if that _is_ their intention."

"I am not sure I follow you, Captain," said Tuvok, his brows furrowed. "The Prime Directive—"

"—doesn't apply here, Tuvok. The Raadamani are space-faring and they made contact with us, not the other way around." Janeway turned intent, gray-blue eyes on each of her trusted officers. "Tell me, gentlemen, are you willing to tell Seven of Nine that she is a suitable choice as mother to B'Etal only when the child's life is in danger or when there is no one else to do it?" When neither man answered, Janeway continued. "We made that mistake with iCheb and we were almost too late to correct it. Custody of a child is about more than biology and genetics and race. Seven's claim is just as valid as theirs."

"Yes, Captain, but the Raadamani will no doubt argue the opposite."

Janeway's smile was practically reptilian. "Not without nullifying their own claim, they won't."

Both men frowned, but only Chakotay voiced his confusion.

"How?"

"Look at the math, gentlemen," explained Janeway. "According to Mizati, 26% of B'Etal's internal systems are Borg in origin. Not enough to tip the scales in our favor if this is truly a contest of genetics, unless—"

"Unless the child's remaining genetic material differs from this pod's by a significant amount," said Tuvok, taking Janeway's theory to its logical conclusion.

"Which it does," she agreed. "By 49%, in fact…if the Doctor is correct."

"Leaving them with a 25% match and us with 26!" Chakotay beamed.

"Exactly!" said Janeway, rising from her chair. "Biology and genetics would be their best bet for refusing our request for an Ulii-Marisin Decision. As you said, Chakotay, we aren't Raadamani. However, once they realize _we_ have the biological advantage, I think they'll be all too eager to invoke the law themselves."

"It's their only chance," said Chakotay, blinking in surprise. "No matter what they want her for, no matter what their plans for her, that law is their only chance to regain custody." He knew it shouldn't startle him like it did, but the captain's uncanny ability to turn losing odds into winning ones simply wasn't something he was ever going to get used to.

"And our trump card," agreed Janeway. "If these Raadamani merchants are anything like our Ferengi back home, they won't like losing. Refusing to consider their claim might put us right in the middle of another war—something I definitely want to avoid." She shifted gears from scientist to captain quickly and easily. "Tuvok, contact the Lead Pair of Pod Boi-Ovani. Tell them you'd like to discuss the terms of their agreement to turn B'Etal's custody over to us. When they demand to speak to me personally—and they will—stall them for eight minutes and then connect them through this terminal."

"Aye, Captain," said Tuvok as he exited the room.

"Chakotay," said Janeway as she unconsciously straightened her uniform. "Call the senior staff to the conference room. I want to begin briefing them as soon as I am finished with the Lead Pair. Once they invoke the Ulii-Marisin Decision, I have a feeling we're going to need every minute we can get to prepare. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Chakotay grimly.

"Oh, and Chakotay?" added Janeway, halting her first officer before he made it through the door. "Remind me to put a note in Mizati's personnel file, won't you? Something glowing that will hopefully stop me from launching her into the nearest black hole on those days she insists on testing the limits of my patience."

"Yes, ma'am," smirked Chakotay knowingly. "Right away."

* * *

  
Kathryn Janeway entered her conference room, frowning as she stepped gingerly around the warped remains of what used to be a door. She shook her head, pulling unconsciously at the uncomfortable collar of her dress uniform as she took her place at the table. She took a quick headcount of the room before she sat, interested to find that Mizati and iCheb had accompanied Seven to this meeting. They looked more like her guards than her children, however; flanking her chair and staring straight ahead, their arms clasped rigidly behind their backs. Janeway had to suppress the urge to say _at ease_ when she saw them.

Instead, she offered a small smile of approval to Seven of Nine, who nodded slightly in acknowledgement, a smile of gratitude tinting her pale lips in return. She then took a moment to survey the rest of her senior staff as they waited impatiently for her to bring the meeting to order. A feeling of pride swept through the captain unexpectedly and she savored it, wondering briefly what would have become of these people if the Caretaker hadn't intervened in their lives the way he had.

_It doesn't matter, Katie,_ chided her inner Phoebe. _They're here now. Do right by them._

Kathryn nodded, feeling her blood turn to steel as it often did in decisive times.

"In accordance with their beliefs and traditions," she began, "the Raadamani have invoked a Law of Absolutes against _Voyager_ in an attempt to gain custody of B'Etal Seonaid Nueves, daughter—" She paused for the briefest of moments, her throat clenching with emotion. "Daughter," she repeated, "of Seven of Nine."

She referred to the PADDs placed around the table. "The law is known as the Ulii-Marisin Decision and you will find a brief overview of it on the PADD in front of you." A brief shuffle was the only sound as hands reached for and accessed the information. While her officers were reading, Kathryn Janeway watched their eyes, seeing them register the barbaric nature of the law in question. When the last pair of eyes found hers, she spoke again.

"I've agreed to their terms," she announced.

Of the immediate reactions—ranging from surprise to approval—only one could be characterized as 'dumbfounded'.

"Captain! You can't be serious!" The Emergency Medical Hologram's face betrayed an unusual mix of emotions, disgust and disbelief seeming to be chief among them. "This isn't a law! It's litigiously sanctioned murder! Surely you can see—"

"I appreciate your…distaste of this statute, Doctor," said Janeway, interrupting her outraged officer. "And I don't want any of you to think that I condone this type of…well, as the Doctor said, it is little more than murder." She frowned deeply, revealing a tiny glimpse of the toll the commitment to follow through on this plan had taken. "However, my decision has been made. We are here now to decide only on the particulars of our involvement…which takes place in one Raadamani _circumference_ or—"

"Thirty hours," piped up Mizati. All eyes turned toward her and she blushed bright red, startled by the sudden attention. She averted her eyes from the scrutiny.

"Thirty hours," agreed Kathryn, smiling slightly. She had to admit there was something she liked about the girl despite her stubbornness and her tendency to do first and ask questions later. "Thank you, Mizati."

Mizati's head rose proudly at the acknowledgement. "You are welcome," she said, nodding.

"Thirty hours doesn't give us much time to prepare," said Chakotay, deftly steering the meeting back on track.

"No, it doesn't." Janeway rose from her chair and walked to the viewscreen on the wall, activating a series of visual files. The first one seemed to be an approximation of an arena as seen from an aerial viewpoint.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

90 minutes, 216 questions, and the greater chunk of a migraine headache all brought Kathryn Janeway to the hardest part of the meeting. They were now perfectly clear on the what, the when, the how, and the why. The only thing left was the who.

"Okay, people," she began, once again occupying her seat at the head of the table. "The Raadamani have notified us there are three absolutes regarding the appointment of a champion and that violating them constitute an immediate forfeit. The first is that the champion cannot be coerced, forced, or chosen—either randomly, by skill, or by democratic vote. He or she must come forward of his or her own free will to participate."

A few nods circled the table but no one spoke.

"The second is that neither member of the Lead Pair of a combatant pod may volunteer as that would cause undue hardship on the functioning of that pod. Raadamani litigants have determined that the spirit of that absolute must be applied to us as well, even though our hierarchy is differently structured. They have therefore barred Commander Chakotay and myself from volunteering." The captain cleared her throat and looked up at her Astrometrics officer, sincere regard coloring her eyes. "But we both want you to know, Seven, that either of us would have gladly come forward."

A delicate wave of surprise fluttered across Seven's face which until this moment had been stoically porcelain and unexpressive.

"Thank you, Commander," she said, nodding at the first officer. Her pale blue eyes brightened with emotion. "Thank you, as well, Captain," she added, acknowledging her friend and mentor. "I…appreciate the sentiment."

Seven realized immediately that the word _appreciate_ did not adequately describe her feelings and her lack of emotional vocabulary embarrassed her. Whatever had seemed so irrelevant about emotion only a few short months ago had evaporated under the strange heat of her interaction with B'Elanna Torres. Now she wished she had made more of an effort to increase her usage of the relevant terms.

Kathryn nodded then quickly averted her eyes, worried that too much emotion of her own would show through her battle armor.

"The only other absolute regarding the champion," she continued, looking at her PADD, "doesn't apply to us since none of the crew is likely to be pregnant at this time."

She was silent a moment while she considered her next words. Finally, she looked up.

"You've all read the report on this," she started. "And even if I were allowed to choose who would represent this ship, I wouldn't. I loathe everything that this law represents." She clenched her jaw against the venom she felt rising inside her. "But the alternatives are…unacceptable."

"During my meeting with the Lead Pair, I discovered that there is more at stake here than just B'Etal's custody. As we had feared, B'Etal's racial disparities are significant enough to this pod to be cause for something called _reciprocal action_ on their part. It is their stated intent, should they prove victorious in their claim of custody, to…"

Kathryn looked away from Seven at that moment, unwilling to look into those particular eyes as she revealed the Raadamani's heinous plan.

"…to have the child euthanized in retaliation for recent attacks by other Raadamani on this pod."

B'Elanna leapt to her feet, crimson rage distorting her features.

"Over my dead body!" she growled. "I'm your volunteer, Captain. This Raadamani _petaQ_ will choke to death on his own blood!"

"An impressive threat, Lieutenant," admitted Tuvok. "And one likely to give the Raadamani pause. However, as Chief of Security, it is my duty to protect the members of this crew." He stood. "Therefore, I will represent the ship in this conflict."

B'Elanna leaned across the conference table. "Stay out of this, Tuvok," she snarled. "This is between me and those child-murdering cowards!"

"Oh goody," sneered the Doctor. "Maybe you two can fight to the death to find out who gets to fight to the death."

"No." Seven's voice was glacial as she stood and linked her hands behind her back. "B'Etal is my child and my responsibility. I will represent her in this confrontation."

B'Elanna turned her round, dark eyes on the ex-Borg. "No way! I won't allow it!"

" _You_ won't allow it?" asked Tom Paris, incredulous. "B'Elanna, what are you _talking_ about?"

"Captain, you can't let her do this!" Torres ignored her ex-lover's question and instead appealed to her superior officer. "What if something happens? What if she—" She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"Do you have so little confidence in my mother's abilities, Lieutenant?" asked iCheb curiously, instantly capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

"No! That's not the point!" sputtered the young Klingon. "I'm thinking of the two of you, for Kahless' sake! Now that you have a mother don't you want to keep her?!"

"What we want is not relevant here, Lieutenant," explained Mizati. "This is my mother's decision to make."

"But it's the WRONG decision!" shouted B'Elanna, skating dangerously near the edge of desperation. "Don't you SEE that?" She looked wildly around the room, searching for supportive eyes around the table. After a moment, she took a deep breath.

"I'm the logical choice for this," she said, trying a different tactic.

"Oh _this_ I have to hear," muttered the Doctor, rolling his eyes. "A Klingon attempting logic."

"Doctor." Janeway glared at her holographic officer until he reluctantly averted his eyes.

"Fine. If you all want to listen to this ridiculous—"

"Doctor!" repeated Janeway. The EMH fell obediently silent.

Janeway nodded, then turned her laser-like gaze on B'Elanna. "Please continue, Lieutenant."

"Indeed," agreed Tuvok, raising one eyebrow in inquiry and interest.

B'Elanna nodded her thanks to the captain. "Look around the table," she said, gesturing with one caramel-skinned hand. "This fight is about family, isn't it? And you all have one. All of you." She looked at Tuvok. "You have a wife, Tuvok. And children and grandchildren. All waiting for you back in the Alpha Quadrant." She indicated others around the table. "Harry's parents are waiting for him. Tom's father is waiting for him. The Captain's mother and sister. Chakotay's tribe." She glanced at Seven. "Relatives of the Hansens."

She took a moment, standing up and looking around the room. "Of the three of us at this table who don't have anyone back in the Alpha Quadrant waiting for us, the Doctor has already made his feelings clear. And Neelix—though he may have the courage of ten Klingons—just isn't cut out for killing. No offense," she said, her eyes filled with genuine affection for the Talaxian guide.

"None taken," he assured her, smiling.

She smiled back then turned to Janeway, her features stony and resolute.

"That just leaves me," she said quietly.

"Unacceptable," said Seven sharply. "I am—"

"Damned right it's unacceptable!" agreed Paris angrily, interrupting Seven. "I'm with the Borg on this one!"

"Shut up, Tom!" spat B'Elanna. "This isn't any of your business!"

"And how exactly is it _your_ business, B'Elanna?" he countered, leaning forward menacingly. "If Seven wants to take care of this, why shouldn't she? Who died and made you Kahless the Unforgettable?"

B'Elanna leaned across the table toward her ex-lover. "Paris, I'm warning you," she said lowly, enunciating each word carefully. "Stay out of this."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" continued Tom recklessly, ignoring B'Elanna's warning. "We're back to that Klingon honor thing, aren't we? Or is it that Maquis thing, where you'd turn off the safeties in the holodeck just to see if bleeding could make you feel again! Is that it, B'Elanna? Do you want to bleed?"

"Qu'vatlh!" cursed the Klingon engineer. "You don't know what you're talking about!!"

"Lieutenant—" said Janeway wearily, intending to stop this pointless argument before it got out of hand.

"Then explain it to me, B'Elanna!" shouted Paris, ignoring the captain's intervention. "Explain it to all of us! Because it doesn't make any sense! Why are you so _determined_ to do this? Why are you so willing to risk your LIFE for this? Seven has come forward on her own! It's her kid at stake here! Her family! If she wants to do this, I say more power to her! She's got a chance here! She's got _experience_ in this—or have you forgotten the Tsunkatse tournaments?"

"Ensign, don't—" Janeway saw that this argument was gaining speed, tumbling out of control. She tried desperately to rein her officers in before one of them went too far.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" roared B'Elanna. She clenched her fists against her rage, not even feeling it when her nails sliced into the skin of her palms.

"THEN MAKE ME UNDERSTAND!" Tom roared back. "JUST TELL ME WHY!"

"BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"

A nanosecond after the words left her mouth B'Elanna Torres realized exactly what she'd said…and where. The crimson flush of rage transformed immediately into mortification and she snapped to attention, shocked brown eyes darting around the silent conference room.

"Oh god," she whispered, blinking once and stumbling back a step. In a panic, she turned toward the only escape route, the battered door, and in the process found Seven's wide, egg-blue eyes staring at her, clearly shocked.

"I…I…" She shook her head slowly, as if in a trance. Then she broke the eye contact and bolted for the door. In her haste she didn't make too many allowances for the broken mechanism, barreling right through it without a thought.

A few seconds later, Tom Paris dropped back into his seat, flushing bright red and unable to look at anyone in the room. Which was probably a good thing considering the daggers Kathryn Janeway was shooting his way with her steel gray eyes.

"Well," said the Doctor, both holographic eyebrows high on his holographic forehead. "That was…unexpected."

"Doctor, please." The tone of Janeway's voice did not leave room for argument and the EMH shrugged apologetically.

"I was just saying—"

"Doctor!"

As if to emphasize Janeway's vehemence, the conference room door chose that moment to give up the ghost, creaking out of its socket and dropping to the floor with a startlingly loud clang. The captain closed her eyes, gripping her throbbing forehead with one white-knuckled hand.

Tuvok quickly and discreetly lifted the door off the floor, propping it against the nearest wall as quietly as he could.

No one in the room dared speak. In fact—other than Mizati and iCheb, whose slightly victorious smiles made their particular opinion on B'Elanna's admission clear—no one dared raise their eyes from the table in front of them, content to take Janeway's lead…whatever that turned out to be.

"All right," she said finally, lifting her eyes from the table in front of her to look at what remained of her senior staff. Only Chakotay managed to even glance in her direction.

"Seven is our champion," she said resignedly. _Just once, couldn't something in this quadrant go smoothly?_ she wondered.

Seven's eyes snapped up to meet the captain's briefly and then dipped away, even as she nodded her acknowledgement of Janeway's statement.

"You have just under—" Janeway checked the chronometer on the wall. "—28 hours to prepare. I suggest you use the time to its best advantage."

"Yes, Captain," agreed Seven, glancing at the doorway briefly.

"Go on," said Janeway gently. "If you need anything, we're all here for you."

Seven blinked and looked at the faces around the table. "I…" For the first time in her life, words seemed to fail her. "Thank you."

She stood and shared a last, beseeching look with Janeway, who nodded ever so slightly, her lips curling in a supportive half-smile. Understanding the silent suggestion, Seven nodded one last time, turned, and exited the room.

When she was sure the young Borg was out of earshot, Janeway sighed and leveled a Force 10 look around the room.

"I don't want to hear a word of this on the ship's gossip circuit, am I understood?"

A few nods answered her. That wasn't quite good enough.

"Am I understood?" she repeated, her volume a notch or two higher.

A chorus of _yes, ma'am_ s and _aye_ s rang out.

"Good. Dismissed, all of you." Kathryn's head sank into her hands.

A general shuffling erupted as the senior staff clamored to leave as quickly as possible. Chakotay signaled to the children and they stopped their attempt to exit, waiting obediently.

"Captain, permission to take Ensign Wildman off active duty until further notice? The children will need—"

"Permission granted," said Janeway, not looking up. "Do whatever you have to, Chakotay. Then you and Tuvok meet me in my ready room. We have work to do."

"Aye, Captain," said the first officer, nodding to the kids and herding them out.

Kathryn Janeway sat alone at her conference table for a long moment, wondering what else could possibly happen.

The unholy crash of the door as it slid down the wall and slammed to the floor was her only answer.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consensual lovemaking between two women contained in this chapter.

__Chirp._ _

B'Elanna, prowling like a caged panther in the middle of her living room, looked at the door to her quarters as if it was the gate to Gre'thor. No way was she going to open it and if whoever was on the other side of it didn't leave her alone, she would happily provide them with an all-expenses-paid trip on the Barge of the Dead.

She waited for another ring but when none came, she continued her pacing…and her self-recriminations.

__Chirp._ _

_Goddammit!_

Determined to ignore the door, B'Elanna whirled away from it, searching for anything—anything at all—to distract her. Her eyes found the bat'tleth on the wall, the one that had belonged to her mother's mother's mother. Suddenly feeling more Klingon than she ever had, B'Elanna lifted the blade from its display.

It felt heavy and foreign in her hands, yet somehow…right. She'd been practicing with it lately, ever since she'd come back from her own little cruise on the Barge. The holoprograms she was using for training were exceptionally complete but she could never quite get the feel for the weapon. It was always awkward…somehow unbalanced.

Until now.

Now, she felt the acid burn of her Klingon blood as it surged inside her, rising up to claim the blade that beckoned to her like a battle-mate. Now, she understood the grace of the weapon and the dance of death that was its purpose. Now, she saw the truth in the ancient legends that spoke of the bond between a warrior and her weapon.

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in the drumbeat of her blood and the chill of the blade. She let her mind go, let it expand to fill the ragged hole inside her with memories of her bat'tleth training, of thrusts and parries and spiraling deathblows. She let it go until the bat'tleth in her mind's eye became Seven of Nine and the dance of death became one of passion finally unleashed, finally and joyfully shared.

"No!" she shouted, her eyes snapping open to end the forbidden dream. She heaved the sword across the room where it connected with the wall with a satisfying THWACK, burying itself in the tritanium alloy up to its second blade.

"B'Elanna?" The muffled voice from the other side of the door sounded both concerned and familiar. Very familiar. _Too_ familiar.

The Klingon sighed.

"B'Elanna Torres, do you require assistance?"

"No!" she said, rubbing her forehead. It was bad enough she'd made a fool out of herself in a staff meeting but now the woman she'd made a fool of herself over had decided to—to what? To just drop by? She shook her head and scowled. "Just go away!"

"No." Seven's voice was clear and calm and quietly adamant. B'Elanna could almost see her standing at attention in the corridor, her long-fingered hands linked efficiently at the small of her back.

"Okay, fine," growled the Klingon. "Stay out there all night if you want. But I am _not_ opening that door." She crossed her arms tightly across her chest and turned her back to the entrance, praying to every Klingon hero she knew that Seven would just get the hint and leave.

_Leave me alone,_ she thought, almost begging. _It's my hearts that are breaking, not yours. Just leave me alone._

"I am more than capable of adapting Mizati's…unorthodox technique to gain entrance to your quarters, B'Elanna. However, I do not believe you wish to repair two damaged doors." When Seven's attempt at coercion didn't produce the desired results, she changed tactics. Drastically.

She reached out with her left hand, placing her palm against the cool metal.

"qaqoy, B'Elanna," she pleaded. "Open the door."

B'Elanna spun at the sound of her mother's language, her features twisting with fury.

_How dare she use my heritage against me_ , thought the part of her rooted in her Klingon past. Then that part of her suddenly understood the meaning of those words. _qaqoy. I beg you._

Seven of Nine, proud, arrogant, and usually above even the word _please_ had just begged.

B'Elanna opened the door.

"You don't beg," she said bluntly instead of a more traditional greeting.

Seven's pale eyes darted away shyly. "There is little I wouldn't do to be allowed to enter," she said softly, her words deliberately having two meanings. She longed for the Klingon to open up, to let her inside the bold hearts she kept locked away.

Seven understood living behind impenetrable walls. She had spent her entire existence since leaving the Collective within her own fortress. B'Elanna had helped to bring those walls down, had helped her to see beyond her uncertainty and insecurities. She wanted nothing more than to do the same for B'Elanna, to tear down the young Klingon's walls and join with her, creating a fortress of two. But B'Elanna's obvious hostility confused her.

_Perhaps loving me is too painful for B'Elanna,_ she thought bleakly.

"Begging won't help you in the arena tomorrow," said B'Elanna harshly. Her arms were still crossed tightly over her chest and she smirked cruelly, looking more like a defensive and hurting child than a Starfleet officer.

"Tomorrow is a different battle," replied Seven, edging closer.

"What?" asked B'Elanna acidly. "You need a little battle practice and figured the resident Klingon was a good choice?" She snorted with disgust. "In case you weren't listening, I'm not in any mood to fight you."

"I have not come here to fight," said Seven quietly. "I have come to offer a surrender."

"Get out!" ordered B'Elanna suddenly. "I don't want your pity!"

"Pity?" Not even Seven's Borg past could mask her outrage and frustration. "I am not offering pity!"

"Then what? What did you come here for? To say goodbye?" B'Elanna spun away from Seven's wide blue eyes. She could not look at her, could not face the woman she loved knowing she might lose her in a few short hours. "Fine. Goodbye. There. I said it. Now get out. There's nothing left to say."

"You are wrong." Seven moved closer and then closer still, until she could feel the heat of B'Elanna's skin reaching out to caress her own. She was careful, so careful not to touch her…yet. "There is still everything to say." She waited a heartbeat then rested her Human hand on the young woman's shoulder, leaning forward to reverently whisper two words into a small, dark ear.

"jIH dok."

The words hit B'Elanna with the force of a Romulan disruptor, literally disintegrating her thoughts, her breath, the sudden pounding of her hearts…

She stood frozen, torn between her suspicions that Seven was pitying her and wondering if the former drone actually knew the true meaning and depth of the words she had just said. _jIH dok_ was tlhIngan Hol for _my blood_ , a sacred oath that—if answered—would mean that she and Seven were bonded, mated for life and beyond.

She turned slowly and looked into Seven's sky blue eyes, ready to bolt if she saw even the merest hint of insincerity. Instead, Seven's eyes became liquid with a warmth and tenderness so exquisite it took B'Elanna's breath away and she knew, she just _knew_. It was all right there, spelled out for her, gentle, searching and absolute. Her love, her destiny. Her life.

"maj dok," she heard herself answer, the words tumbling from her lips.

Seven's immediate and incandescent smile rivaled the light of a thousand suns and with trembling fingers, she reached out to cup B'Elanna's soft cheek in her hand. She had thought that the happiest moment of her life had been hearing B'Elanna admit that she loved her. Now she knew that had only been the beginning.

"be'nalwI'," whispered Seven. "My wife."

Then and only then did B'Elanna know her hearts had given the right answer. _maj dok. Our blood._ The answer, the seal of the Great Oath. And now the young Klingon knew it was the answer to every question she had ever asked. She would never face anything alone again.

_Alone._ The word mocked her as she realized that she could very well face everything alone again in a few hours, including Seven's death. Suddenly B'Elanna felt hollow, that thought slicing through her like an icy wind. She'd just been given the Universe itself and now it could be taken away. Just like that.

She pulled Seven into her arms and reached up, letting her fingertips drift down a perfect alabaster cheek.

It didn't matter. The certainty B'Elanna felt startled her with its depth and purity. None of it mattered. Not the future. Not the past. None of it.

She cupped Seven's face with both hands, her caramel skin dark against Seven's pallor.

_This is what matters_ , she thought, her hearts aching. _Now. Her. Us._

B'Elanna Torres held the Universe in her hands and she would treasure it—treasure her—for as long as she had. Gently, she drew Seven down, kissing her for the first time with reverent tenderness, her lips soft and seeking. Seven answered with a melting touch, her full lips parting as the kiss deepened.

"I love you, B'Elanna Torres," she murmured against the Klingon's lips, between kisses. Those words nearly stopped B'Elanna's hearts and she pulled Seven even closer, kissing her with abandon, reveling in the sweet taste of her. Seven's lips parted again and the kiss bloomed like a blood rose, deepening further and further still until B'Elanna finally had to pull away just to breathe.

Seven whimpered, her mouth coming again to B'Elanna's, plundering berry lips with hunger and longing. Her long arms wrapped around B'Elanna's smaller frame, pulling her closer until their bodies met, a heat the likes of which she'd never known igniting along the length of her wherever they touched. Seven surrendered to the intoxicating sensations, to the perfection of loving this woman.

B'Elanna groaned, losing herself in Seven's newfound passion. She reached up and tangled her fingers in Seven's silken hair, loosening the pins that dammed its waves and letting it fall like honeywine over her hands. Desire was an ache within her, searing and powerful. All she wanted in the Universe was to feel Seven's skin against her own.

"Make love to me," she breathed. A tiny part of her brain vibrated with alarm, startled by the pleading sound of her voice. Her hearts immediately silenced it, knowing now that there was strength in her need, in her vulnerability. Shame no longer had any power over her. There was no room for it in her life.

"God, please," she whispered, her mouth leaving Seven's to trail kisses along her throat and over the pulse point where she could feel the pounding of Seven's blood. "Make love to me, bangwI'."

Seven stiffened in B'Elanna's arms. "I do not…I…"

B'Elanna pulled away as if she'd been stung. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't…I wouldn't…"

Seven caught her up in her arms again, a self-conscious smile tinting her lips. "B'Elanna, I did not mean…" She tried again, wondering why saying what she felt was suddenly so difficult. "I _want_ to love you," she said shyly, not certain that she was being clear. "I do not know how."

B'Elanna blinked.

"Oh."

Her fear and embarrassment disappeared instantly and she yielded willingly in Seven's strong embrace.

"Oh," she said again, more to hear herself speak than anything else. She turned her dark eyes upward to meet Seven's apprehensive gaze, then leaned forward, kissing the young woman softly, sweetly. When Seven finally responded, deepening the kiss and parting B'Elanna's lips to explore the warm velvet of her mouth, B'Elanna began moving toward her bedroom, tugging Seven with her, never breaking their connection.

"You'll learn," she breathed as they parted. "I'll show you."

Seven's blood thundered through her veins and she felt dizzy and out of breath.

"I…adapt quickly," she whispered earnestly, eyes wide and innocent.

B'Elanna chuckled and drew the inexperienced woman down for a quick, searing kiss.

"It's not about speed, bangwI'," she murmured softly in Seven's ear. "It's about…enjoying the process." She kissed the small starburst implant on Seven's cheek and then moved upward, her tongue tracing the whorls of a tender, pearl-shell ear.

Seven thought her cortical implant had imploded, so strong was her reaction to those words…that touch.

"Then we are already…successful," she replied, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands, trembling and curious, slid down B'Elanna's muscular back and further down, caressing hesitantly but with growing confidence.

"Very," agreed the engineer, guiding Seven to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled back a little and looked down at her, trying to burn this moment into her hearts for safe keeping. She never wanted to forget this. When her hungry eyes had had their fill, she gently turned Seven away from her.

"B'Elanna?" Seven's voice was barely audible.

"Shhhh…" B'Elanna lifted Seven's golden hair away from her neck and bent down, touching her hot mouth to the tender skin high at the nape. When Seven sighed with growing pleasure, B'Elanna's dark fingers found the closure of her biosuit and deftly unclasped it, parting the skin-tight fabric as slowly as she could. Her mouth followed the trail of creamy skin that was revealed, tasting Seven's shivers as they danced along her spine.

"I love you, Seven," she whispered. Seven's head fell backwards as she absorbed the sound of those words, wanting, needing to hear them again.

"Again," she begged. "Say it again."

"I love you, Seven." B'Elanna's voice was thick with emotion, low and ragged. She hoped the sound could convey the depth of what she felt for this beautiful woman, how the words were Truth irrefutable to her.

She eased the fabric of Seven's biosuit forward, baring enticing, milky white shoulders begging to be kissed…which she did, pressing cranberry-stained lips to the pale, pale skin. Seven gasped and leaned back, pressing into B'Elanna, demanding more.

"tIqwI'," she breathed, her voice tremulous and wanting.

B'Elanna nuzzled the long, graceful throat bared to her mouth and chuckled. "You know more tlhIngan Hol than I do, bangwI'," she noted. "My mother would be so proud."

Seven turned very blue eyes to B'Elanna. "Your mother would approve of…us? Of you mated to a…Borg?"

"An ex-Borg," corrected B'Elanna, wrapping her arms around Seven's middle and hugging her close. "And my mother will…" She stopped, shaking her head a little. "Or would have loved you, Seven. She would have been proud of your arrogance and your brutal honesty. Those are very Klingon traits, you know."

"You said I was rude," Seven reminded her. "I thought you did not like those traits." Her tone wasn't sad or accusing, only curious.

"I tried very hard not to like them," B'Elanna admitted. "But no matter what I did, you still kept getting under my skin." She closed her teeth on Seven's earlobe and tugged gently. "I really thought I was going to have to launch you out an airlock one day."

Seven smiled. "I am glad you did not," she said. "I prefer being…here."

B'Elanna turned Seven towards her. "Here is where you belong," she said, leaning in for a kiss. She'd meant it to be a gentle one, a kiss of reassurance, but Seven would have none of that. She tangled the fingers of her Human hand in B'Elanna's sable hair, pulling her closer, begging entrance into her mouth with her tongue. B'Elanna yielded eagerly, opening herself to Seven's exploration.

"Kahless," she gasped, finally pulling away, trying to catch her breath. Her lungs heaved with the effort even as she pressed her face into the hollow of Seven's throat. "I want you," she whispered, tasting the racing pulse point beneath her lips.

"Yes…" Seven arched her back into the touch.

"I want you," B'Elanna repeated, aching with her desire. She covered Seven's features with melting caresses and eased the loosened fabric of her biosuit down, off her arms and down further, revealing her breasts.

Hungry, nearly blinded by the thunder of her own hot blood, B'Elanna pulled Seven into a standing position and slid the suit the rest of the way down until it was completely removed and the young woman stood tall and bare before her, trembling with a mixture of need and fear. B'Elanna took her time, rose slowly from the floor, her fingertips gliding over marble skin and silvery mesh and metal.

"You are so beautiful," she said, chestnut eyes locked with blue. "So beautiful…"

She pulled Seven into a kiss but was surprised a moment later to have that kiss broken.

"I want to see you," explained Seven, her efficient hands making short work of B'Elanna's uniform. Within moments Seven was gazing upon the Klingon's muscular, nude form, feeling her blood heat within her veins. She drew her fingertips down the length of the caramel-brown body, watching with interest and tenderness as their passage raised a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

With a stirring of desire that filled her to brimming, Seven raised her eyes to meet B'Elanna's again.

"Show me how to love you, my wife." It was a request, but not a shy one. Seven knew what she wanted. And she would have it.

B'Elanna shivered at the power, the strength in Seven's voice…felt herself grow weak and wet. Unable to continue standing, she lowered herself to the bed, catching one of Seven's hands in her own and pulling her down with her.

She lay back, her skin tingling where it met the silken fabric beneath her. Seven followed her, stretched herself along B'Elanna's length then lifted herself, covering her body with her own.

"Oh god…" B'Elanna wrapped her muscular legs around Seven's hips. "Kiss me…"

Seven did, hard, feeling B'Elanna's groan of pleasure even in her bones. She felt B'Elanna's wetness against her belly and her own wetness that answered it, humid and hot and amazing. She felt B'Elanna's nipples tighten against her and she pulled away from the kiss to watch, entranced by the berry-dark skin and the way it pebbled. Suddenly struck by an idea, she lowered her mouth to one and kissed it, her tongue dancing in soft, slow circles around it.

B'Elanna gasped and arched her back, pressing into Seven's hot mouth.

"Seven…please…"

Seven happily obliged, believing her wife's plea was in reference to the other breast or the neglect of it. She covered its nipple with her mouth, suckling it sweetly as her fingertips took over the stimulation of the abandoned one.

"Oh god…" B'Elanna's legs tightened around Seven and her hips began to rock…gently at first, then with increasing fervor. She had never felt this way before. Never.

She was lost, she realized. Drowning in ecstasy, sinking deeper and deeper with every breath. Happily… Joyfully…

Seven's mouth left B'Elanna's nipples and journeyed downward, tasting corded muscles and skin the flavor of citrus and spice. She stopped for a long moment at a strange indentation in B'Elanna's middle, realizing eventually that it was her navel, calling up the knowledge from buried memories. She kissed there for an eternity, delighting in the way her touch made B'Elanna squirm.

"bangwI'," B'Elanna gasped, her hands tangled in Seven's golden hair. With gentle pressure, she guided Seven's mouth further downward, wanting the heat of her to quench the raging need, the ache between her legs.

Seven, however, took her time, exploring the slopes and valleys of B'Elanna's body with tender thoroughness, learning the shape of her, her curves and planes, touching her with tongue and lips and skin. She carefully avoided the place she most wanted to go, most wanted to discover, knowing instinctively that anticipation made love sweeter.

B'Elanna, though, was going mad. Her breath came in aching sobs and her body trembled with inexpressible need.

"Seven," she cried, arching up, begging for the touch she craved.

Seven smiled against the dark skin of a thigh, knowing it was time. Her mouth sought the source of B'Elanna's need, long hair spilling over the Klingon's belly and thighs. She kissed the spot softly, a gentle beginning. She breathed deeply, intoxicated by the heady, spicy scent, wanting it on her lips, on her tongue. She moaned then, a rapturous, seductive sound, and lowered her mouth to the heat of her lover, kissing there deeply, languidly, and unhurriedly.

B'Elanna's eyes snapped open wide, startled by the feel of Seven's hot mouth on her, of her tongue thrusting sweetly and earnestly deep inside her.

"Sweet Kahless," she gasped, holding her breath. Seven sensed the power of this moment for B'Elanna and reached up, grasping her hand, tangling her long, lithe fingers with dark ones to ground the Klingon.

B'Elanna gripped Seven's hand like a lifeline, holding onto it with every ounce of her strength. Waves of fire and ice buffeted her skin and her body was rigid, transfixed with passion, poised on the edge of something that frightened her with its intensity.

Then all at once, she felt it begin. First a tremor, then her body arching, taut like a bow, begging for release.

"Oh god! Yes! Seven…" She tightened her fingers around Seven's, needing to feel her, needing that connection. "Seven…god…god…"

Her hips rocked once, twice…then rose sharply and B'Elanna screamed, the world flying apart in flaming, jagged pieces around her, the roar of thunder and blood blotting out all sound and thought.

"I love you," murmured Seven against B'Elanna's belly. Their hands were still linked and the young Borg rested her cheek on a dark thigh as Lana struggled to breathe again. "Thank you." She clenched her eyes shut and nuzzled the soft skin where B'Elanna's thigh met her hip.

"Hey," said the engineer, still gulping air. "Hey, c'mere." She pulled Seven up and into her arms, holding her tightly. Seven could feel the pounding of Lana's dual hearts and she impulsively kissed the spot where they beat the strongest.

The young Klingon tilted Seven's chin up so she could look into her eyes.

"Älskling?" she asked gently, using a Swedish term of endearment she just happened to know. "You okay? Why are you thanking me?"

Seven closed her eyes. "For allowing me to love you."

"Allowing you?" Lana sat up a little, frowning slightly. "Seven, I love you. I've wanted this, dreamed of this… I didn't think you… You just pulled away. I didn't know what to do."

"Then loving me is not…stupid?" Seven's eyes were a pale, anxious blue.

"Stupid?!" B'Elanna was flabbergasted. "Where in the Hell did you ever get that idea?"

"From you. You asked B'Etal to help you forget me…before you did something stupid."

B'Elanna shook her head, trying to piece this puzzle together. Then she remembered. The rocking chair. Rescuing B'Etal from Neelix. Confidences shared with an infant.

"You were there? In the cargo bay?"

Seven nodded. "Mr. Neelix informed me you had taken B'Etal…home. I came to assist."

B'Elanna sighed then turned with Seven in her arms, lowering her to the pillows and covering her body with her own.

"Listen to me, Seven of Nine," she said, cupping the blonde's face in her hands. "I love you. When I said those things, I was afraid. Afraid that you would think my love was…irrelevant. Afraid that you couldn't feel about me the way I felt about you. That's what I meant about doing something stupid. Not this." She pressed her lips to the corner of Seven's mouth for a moment. "Never this." She kissed Seven's eyelids and forehead with melting tenderness. "You are my life. Do you understand?"

Seven's cobalt eyes, liquid with tears, looked up and she nodded. "I understand," she whispered. She touched her fingertips to B'Elanna's cheek and wondered how she had ever existed before this moment.

"Good," said B'Elanna, kissing Seven again, lingering for a moment to enjoy the taste of herself on those petal-pink lips. "You can thank me later. After I do this."

B'Elanna captured Seven's lips with her own, parting them, kissing her hard and deep.

Seven gasped as her desire surged within her, a flashflood of need so powerful she feared she would be swept away. Her arms tightened around Lana, pulled her closer. Her fingers ran lightly over sweet, brown skin, hands finding then cupping the young Klingon's bottom.

"Oh no you don't," whispered Lana as she grasped Seven's hands and imprisoned them over her head. "It's my turn to love you, my wife."

She grinned a rakish, hungry grin and growled deep in her chest. Seven moaned softly and she felt her nipples become hard, aching to be touched. Lana was only too happy to oblige.

With maddening slowness, she lowered her mouth to one cherry-pink nipple and captured it gingerly with her teeth. She tugged gently, delighting in the hiss of pleasure that escaped Seven's full lips.

"Mine," she said, capturing the other nipple, her hot tongue circling it, caressing it with abandon.

"Yes," whispered Seven. "I am yours."

"Oh god, Seven. Tell me again." Lana's soft lips roamed every millimeter of Seven's breasts, reveling in their firmness and the way they responded to her touch.

"I am yours, B'Elanna Torres." Seven took a long, shuddering breath as she felt B'Elanna's mouth begin to trail hot kisses down to her abdomen. "Only yours. Forever."

Lana's hearts skipped a beat. Whatever else happened, however the next few hours played out, she knew she would carry those words with her wherever she went for the rest of her life. Right now, however, all that mattered to B'Elanna was Seven and showing her how much she wanted her, how much she'd been wanting her.

Slowly she descended Seven's body, her lips searching out hollows and planes, sweet, pale skin and mesh implants alike. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the mesh was body temperature and fluid instead of cold and rigid. And Seven's scent! The delicate intermixture of purity and cleanliness with the subtle tang of metal was driving the young Klingon's senses mad.

She tried very hard not to rush their lovemaking, deliberately avoiding Seven's hips and thighs and the slight musk of her center. She instead spent long moments kissing along the bottom of the abdominal implant only to journey north again to nip teasingly at Seven's breasts or to kiss her deeply, endlessly…

Seven moaned softly, some part of herself surprised by the sound even as she made it. But she knew that she couldn't stop the sounds she was making, any more than she could stop her own heart from beating.

She opened heavily-lidded eyes to watch as B'Elanna again made her way down her belly, her breath catching at the sight.

_Whatever she asks of me, I will give,_ she thought. She arched up to meet B'Elanna's tongue, now dancing closer to the place where she ached so. She knew what she had done to B'Elanna, how natural and instinctual that had been. She'd been so intent on pleasing her wife that she simply hadn't acknowledged her fear or uncertainty. Now though, with nothing to do but feel, Seven quickly felt herself becoming overwhelmed, even disoriented.

"B'Elanna?" she whispered.

B'Elanna heard the slight waver of her lover's voice and immediately went to her, cradling her face in her hands.

"be'nal? Are you okay?" Worry filled her eyes and made her hands gentle and comforting.

"Yes," answered the young Borg, but she couldn't hide her trembling.

"Seven, we don't have to—I mean, we can stop if—"

"No," said Seven, deciding immediately, reaching for B'Elanna. "Make love to me," she whispered, eyes azure with desire. "I need you."

She arched up and met B'Elanna's mouth with her own, their lips meeting softly, chastely. Another soft kiss, then another…and tortuously, by miniscule increments, the kiss deepened until Seven parted her lips and received B'Elanna's breathless exploration.

When they parted, Seven whimpered and tried to recapture Lana's mouth, hungry for more. But B'Elanna pulled away, intending to kiss her way downward…

"No," breathed Seven, catching B'Elanna's shoulder with trembling fingers. "Please…stay with me." Her eyes glittered in the dim light of B'Elanna's bedroom, set to sparkling with arousal and love and a little fear. "Stay," she repeated, her voice soft and deep.

"Oh god," moaned B'Elanna, kissing Seven hard. "Yessss…"

One dark hand slowly roamed downward, stopping to tantalize a nipple that hardened instantly, then moving on until it reached Seven's thighs. B'Elanna let her fingers dance along the pale, smooth skin.

"Open your legs for me, be'nal," she begged against Seven's kiss-swollen lips.

Seven had no choice but to comply with B'Elanna's passionate request. Her body willingly answered for her and she parted her long legs.

B'Elanna's fingers were gentle in their exploration, seeking Seven's warmth and need.

"Oh Seven," she breathed, fingers gliding, caressing softly.

Nothing Seven had ever read or imagined prepared her for these feelings. The heat that raced along her skin was like a plasma fire raging out of control. Her heart pounded inside her and she couldn't breathe at all. Every cell, every molecule within her centered on the urgent ache that made her hips rock against B'Elanna's hand.

"Breathe, Älskling," whispered B'Elanna as she deepened her touch. She knew the sacredness of Seven's gift to her, how precious this moment was, and it filled her hearts with the searing ache of love. That this strong, beautiful woman would give herself so completely…B'Elanna almost couldn't believe it. "Just breathe…"

Seven whimpered, the sound melting in the air. B'Elanna leaned in and captured her wife's lips, intent on sharing every sound that she made.

The kiss sealed their passion's path and Lana's fingers became more ardent, more commanding.

"B'Elanna…" whispered Seven. Her Human hand was entangled in B'Elanna's wavy locks while her Borg enhanced hand clenched and unclenched unconsciously above her head. In fact, all of her actions seemed to be unconscious now, directed by her heart's need. She was pure emotion and she reveled in it.

In the Collective, she had been pure logic, devoid of feeling. Now she was the mirror of that reality, pure emotion, beyond all logic. All that existed for her now was her love for B'Elanna and the sweet dance of the Klingon's fingers.

"Lana…" Seven said her lover's name over and over, her voice trembling with the spiral of desire rising inside her.

_I…I never knew,_ thought the young Klingon, eyes wide, breathless with amazement as she gazed upon Seven's enraptured features. _I never knew it could be like this…_

No lover before had ever found a way into her hearts and soul the way Seven had. How could she have known the key to those doors would be her own name sighed from Seven's lips?

She pulled away from Seven slightly, entranced by the sight of her arching her back and biting her full bottom lip in a futile attempt to hush the sweet seductive sounds she was making.

"No…" cried Seven, opening her eyes when she felt the cool air on her skin. She wanted B'Elanna against her, skin on skin. This retreat was unacceptable.

B'Elanna covered Seven again, the fingers of her free hand sifting through the silk of the Borg's perfect golden-honey hair. The bluest eyes she had ever seen captured her gaze and she fell into them deeply, watching as they widened, discovering the power that arced between them like electricity.

Seven cried out again and the rocking of her hips became stronger, the spiral of heat and need tightening inside her.

"Love me…" she whispered, opening fully to B'Elanna's touch, trusting her completely, knowing she was safe here in her wife's arms. Safe to let her heart go, safe to feel and love and be.

B'Elanna was startled by the unconditional trust she saw painted in sea-blue. It almost hurt to know that Seven loved her so fully, so purely.

"be'nalwI'," she said reverently, knowing now that this had all been inevitable. From the very beginning when the arrogant Borg had first crossed the threshold of B'Elanna's engine room, making her crazy with her incomparable skill and an honesty she could only envy. Even then they had been like magnets…pulling toward each other with a certainty strengthened by the laws of physics.

_I fought you so hard_ , thought B'Elanna, leaning in to kiss Seven's eyes.

Fingers exquisitely enclosed, caressing deeply, B'Elanna felt Seven's tremors begin and she knew that fighting this…this perfection had been wrong. Seven began to keen and B'Elanna's body reacted strongly to the sound, arching against Seven's writhing body with desperate passion.

"Yours," she breathed against Seven's mouth, surrendering at last to the sheer power of her love. "I belong to you."

The totality of B'Elanna's surrender made Seven's breath catch and she looked up into dark eyes so open, so warm that the gaze made her ache. Then—all at once—the Universe upended itself and ignited, filling Seven with lightning and fire.

"Lana!" she cried out, her body rigid.

"Yes!" B'Elanna felt the tremors grow stronger and then felt them begin inside herself.

"Lana…love…"

"Kahless…Seven…" B'Elanna breathed against Seven's throat.

The lightning storm hit them both at once and they cried out as one, Seven's breathless keening and B'Elanna's shout of release blending together, a strange and beautiful sonata.

Later…much later, their bodies entwined, Seven and B'Elanna kissed deeply, their hearts still beating wildly in their chests. When they parted, Seven opened eyes made pale with regret.

"I must go now, be'nal," she whispered. B'Elanna's hearts lurched with fear and Seven felt it against her skin.

"Don't," said the young Klingon, hiding her eyes against Seven's throat.

Seven tightened her arms around the smaller woman and pulled her close, kissing her forehead.

"I do not wish to but—"

B'Elanna stopped Seven's explanation with a kiss. "Shhh…Don't explain. I know." She rested her forehead against her lover's and sighed. "I just…" She swallowed hard, unable to speak past the lump growing in her throat. "I just love you, okay?"

"And I love you," said Seven, her fingertips gently tracing B'Elanna's cranial ridges. "That will never change. I am not leaving _you_ , B'Elanna. I cannot. You hold my heart."

B'Elanna took a moment longer to collect herself, letting Seven's words penetrate the fear, disintegrating it. Then she opened eyes tinted with steel.

"Okay," she said, kissing Seven one last time. "Let's go get your daughter."

Seven shook her head slightly. "Our daughter," she corrected. "B'Etal is our daughter now."

B'Elanna Torres stilled as the impact of the last few hours finally caught up to her in one brilliant flash of understanding.

_I'm married,_ she thought, blinking. Though the oath was a private ritual it was no less binding than a traditional ceremony. _I'm married…and a mother of three._ The last two of her childhood Rules fell without a sound and she smiled, suddenly free.

"Our daughter," B'Elanna repeated, testing the feel of the words. She found them sweet and completely, utterly right. "Let's go get our daughter."

* * *

Kathryn Janeway entered the empty sickbay with a sigh and headed directly for her EMH's office, the probable source of the bright light spilling out into the dim examination room. She could see the top of the hologram's head as he bent over his console, studying some report or another rather intently.

"You rang?" she asked in a tired version of her usual sarcasm, smirking half-heartedly as she raised a mug of fresh coffee to her lips.

The Doctor looked up and promptly frowned at the dark circles under his captain's eyes. Exhaustion radiated from her every pore and he was half-surprised that she was even standing, let alone had managed the trek all the way down to sickbay.

"Captain, I would have been more than happy to come to your ready room. There was no reason for you to—"

Janeway raised a weary hand to stop his lecture. "I know you mean well, Doctor, but to be honest I'm happy to be out of there. I've just been staring out the window, worrying. I needed a change of scenery."

"What you need," countered the Doctor sharply, "is at least 10 hours of sleep and a good meal. No offense, but you look about as energetic as a Vulcan in a coma."

"Thanks," said Janeway sourly. "Let's save the colorful epithets, shall we? You said you had something to tell me."

The EMH nodded. "I'm afraid my news isn't good…"

"Why does that not surprise me?"

The Doctor ignored the question and keyed in a request at his console. "Despite the impending deathfest, the Raadamani have been eager to trade with us. Apparently our undesirable status doesn't preclude them from seeking a profit wherever they can."

"A species after the Ferengis' own hearts," said Janeway taking another sip of hot coffee.

"Don't count your Ferengi before they've profited," cautioned the Doctor. "I don't think even our diminutive profiteers would want to forge an alliance with these merchants. However, since they were so eager to divest us of some krelloid power converters we had on board, I took it upon myself to request one or two items I thought would…increase Seven's chances of defeating her opponent."

When Janeway smiled knowingly, the EMH scowled.

"Don't get any ideas, Captain," he spat. "I am still as against this charade as I was in the conference room. However, Seven's lessons in Humanity are progressing quite nicely at the moment. It would be a shame to see that go to waste."

"Yes, it would," said Janeway, recognizing a lie when she heard one. She simply saw no reason to call him on it. "Go on."

"For a nominal price, Ensign Wildman's first contact team was able to obtain a detailed history of the Raadamani, particularly regarding this genetic war they've been fighting. I thought the information would be more helpful than that children's book."

"If it wasn't for 'that children's book', Doctor, B'Etal would already be in Raadamani custody and we would have one very heartbroken Borg on our hands."

"Hmmm…point taken, Captain. Which brings me to what I wanted to tell you."

Janeway looked at the EMH expectantly and he furrowed his brows, turning his attention to the data streaming across his terminal.

"I assume you have a Plan B lurking about in the event that our Plan A returns to the ship in a body-bag?"

"A few things have crossed my mind, yes," replied Janeway carefully. The Doctor's harsh phrasing had been beyond even his worst mood and knowing her holographic officer's affection for Seven of Nine, she didn't have to guess the cause. She just hoped to Hell that his matrix was stable.

"Well, if any of them rely on the ability to reason with the Raadamani, you can discard them right now."

"What do you mean?"

"The Lead Pair wasn't very clear with Tuvok about why children are so prized in the Raadamani culture. And for good reason, apparently. Any rational being would automatically assume that children are prized in this culture because they are loved and cared for and valued simply for their existence, correct? Take that children's book, for instance. Obviously someone cared enough about his or her child to create that entertaining collection of legends, right?"

"Why do I have the feeling you are going to tell me otherwise, Doctor?"

"Actually, all of that would be exactly right…if we were to suddenly travel back in time approximately 100 years ago."

Janeway closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Either she was more exhausted than she'd originally given herself credit for or she simply wasn't following the Doctor's elusive train of thought.

"Can we dispense with the sensationalism and just get to the point, Doctor?" she asked tiredly. "Otherwise I'll be asleep before the story's over…and I'd hate to miss the ending."

"Very funny," sniped the EMH. "Fine. Let me spell it out for you. About 100 years ago, the Raadamani experienced what could have very well been a catastrophic socio-economic collapse brought about by their saturation of available markets. Demand for goods fell dramatically, supply nearly tripled overnight, and prices sank like so many rocks that have just been chucked into a large body of water. However, some enterprising pod or another came up with a plan to change all that. Not a particularly original one, to be sure, but certainly effective."

"Doctor…" Janeway urged the verbose hologram to hurry.

"I'm getting there, Captain," he snapped, offended by the interruption. Honestly, some people just didn't appreciate his talents. "Now where was I? Oh, yes. Their plan. Well, they rewrote the podial profit computation that had been in effect for over 3000 of our years. Instead of gaining profit based on a number of complex factors, including contracts with neighboring pods, productivity, product, and customer loyalty, now the Raadamani gained profit based on only one factor."

"Which was?"

"A nasty little equation that measured something known as the Genetic Average of each pod. Once determined, the GA was compared to the GA of those the Raadamani saw as perfect beings, the Primes. The higher the percentage of the match, the higher the profit of that pod. And apparently euthanasia is not an uncommon response to a fractional birth."

Janeway paled.

"Fractional birth?"

The Doctor's mouth flattened into a grim line. "Though fetal percentage errors are rare, when they occur the Raadamani…dispose of them quickly. Even if they are discovered after a live birth."

The usually imposing captain suddenly seemed smaller as she sagged against the Doctor's desk.

"Dear god," she whispered.

"On the contrary, Captain," said the EMH bitterly. "The Raadamani engineer their children to increase their profit and kill their mistakes as they go. No god has anything to do with that."  
  
"Then this war...?"  
  
"…started about thirty years ago and has been going strong ever since. They've become fanatics, Captain. Raadamani profit margins are tied into their genetic makeup. Right now, they simply target each other's children, hoping to lower their competition's podial average that way. But soon someone somewhere is going to get the bright idea to kidnap high-average children and forcibly breed them, killing two Owons with one stone, as it were."  
  
"Raising their own profit margins while lowering their competition's."  
  
"Exactly."

"Damn them," cursed Janeway, crossing her arms over her chest and turning away from the Doctor.

"The irony of it all," continued the hologram, "is that if we had come across B'Etal's home pod instead of this one, we'd be facing the same ordeal. B'Etal's home pod would most likely have seen her as fractional due to the Borg contamination. They might have chosen to exercise their podial right to dispose of her."

Janeway whirled on the Doctor, her face blank with surprise.

"What??"

"I said—"

Janeway waved his reiteration away. "They're killing her just because they can," she said with icy certainty. "Once Pod Boi-Ovani realized she couldn't help their profit margin they decided to take out the deaths of their lost children on her. They could have left B'Etal alone, knowing even her home pod would have killed her. But no, _these_ Raadamani want to justify their losses. Killing a child of another pod, of anyother pod, is a plus mark in their little ledger books and they want to even things out for themselves."

She fixed the Doctor with a look of such utter disgust and loathing that if he could have shuddered, he would have. And he knew without a doubt that no matter what happened to Seven of Nine in the battle to come, Janeway had absolutely no intention of ever relinquishing custody of B'Etal…to any Raadamani, anywhere.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The arena was dark when Wuqat of Pod Boi-Ovani entered it.

"Kaido mesa-li," he ordered and one by one, the overhead lights surged with power, illuminating the empty space. He nodded, clearly pleased, then headed directly to the _tos_ , the point where things begin and things end. He walked the perimeter of the arena slowly, saying the ritual chant—the _tzit-fallit_ —under his breath.

_Null Humans,_ he thought, scowling as he remembered the words of Irlo-Jaat, the Lead Pair, when he had come to present himself as champion for this ancient ritual.

"They war for love or principle, Wuqat," they'd said. "Their passion is their undoing."

Wuqat frowned again. The Raadamani had warred for one reason and one reason alone since Sine 134. Profit. The Ulii-Marisin decision was a holdover from a different time—a weaker time—which had never been repealed. That his pod found itself bound to it now made him want to howl.

He finished his circuit and stepped into the center of the fighting area, flexing his corded hands and muscular arms. He settled the slisss, his ritual fighting blades, along his forearms and crouched in the center of the ring, trying to imagine the form and face of the Human he would face in only a few degrees.

"Iiiiya!" he shouted, leaping into a spinning kick, his bare feet thudding loudly on the floor in the empty arena. Once landed, he dropped into a crouch and fluidly drew an arm back, punching forward with power and grace. He let the pull of his arm carry through and he rolled on one shoulder, his sinewy legs catapulting him directly from the floor into another high kick.

_Soft_ , Irlo-Jaat had called them. _Impure. Base. Enslaved by sentiment._

He struck at the air with a roundhouse punch, letting his disgust power his moves.

They wanted to keep the fractional infant to raise as their own, as if her genetic structure carried no weight to his pod. It was completely unthinkable.

Did they not know the equation? Could they not see the simplicity of his people's computations? It surely didn't take an Enth to figure it out…

With five billion Raadamani roaming the quadrant as merchants, it was inevitable that an economic disaster would eventually befall them. When it began, some clear-headed leads got together and determined a new computation of podial profit…based entirely on the Saitzi-elo, a complex system that computed a pod's genetic makeup and compared it to the average genetic makeup of the TaTzit, the Great Primes. The closer a pod's genetic average was to the Primes, the more profit they earned.

Wuqat was proud to be a sum of Pod Boi-Ovani with a familial percentage match of 78.9011% and a podial percentage match of 67.6509%. And this with only his wife, Nai, and one child. Both percentages had been significantly higher before his two other children had fallen victim to the bio-economic civil war that had been raging between factions of the Raadamani for more than 15 cycles now.

The fractional infant's bio-data had been reviewed by the genetic counselors but her podial origin could not be determined. That had disappointed others from his community. Boi-Ovani had reciprocals pending with several pods and many were hoping to finalize at least one.

Wuqat sneered. It didn't matter to him what pod the infant had come from. He had a chance to reciprocate _now_ , to punish some pod somewhere for the losses he had suffered. Nothing would stop him.

He flexed his biceps and drew his long arms up to deliver a simple combination move to his invisible foe, pleased by the sounds of his blades slicing through the air. He followed the simple combination with a spinning attack and then a feint, so intent on his warm-up that he missed the sound of the arena's doors opening and the dim sound of footsteps crossing the smooth floor.

"Aya?" said the intruder softly and Wuqat turned to see his only surviving child, Qati, looking at him with wide, proud eyes. He held a small container in his upturned hands. Wuqat smiled.

"Qati, esai," he said in greeting, removing his slisss. He knelt in front of the boy, only 3 cycles old, and took the container from him. He lifted its lid and looked inside, his smile widening.

"Uwre-no kenra?" It was imperative that no one had seen Qati bringing the paste that lay in the little box if his plan was to succeed.

"Ksayt," said Qati, shaking his head. Wuqat nodded approvingly. Using the yiheja poison in a ritual battle was strictly forbidden under the laws still in effect from Cosine 30, when the Ulii-Marisin decision had been ratified. Though he didn't think Irlo-Jaat would object, he did not know how much the Humans truly did understand about Raadamani law. The rumor on Pod Boi-Ovani was that some children on board the strange ship had stumbled upon a Raadamani legend that had given the Human lead the idea to press the Ulii-Marisin decision. Wuqat couldn't take the chance that that was true.

If the Humans found the yiheja poison or suspected its use, it would mean an instant forfeit on Boi-Ovani's part, giving his opponent custody of the fractional child. However, the neural poison would also give him an out if things began to look bad for him in the fight.

Just the merest dab of yiheja on the skin would do the job. All he had to do was have some nearby, someplace no one would suspect. He looked around the arena, his eyes stopping on one perfect spot.

"Tojii-wa, Qati," he said, gesturing for his child to follow him. "Ri fesa-am ses kuwut."

Qati ducked his head obediently and darted off to retrieve a pair of fighting gloves from a bench nearby. He met his father at the tos, the point where things begin and things end. Every Raadamani arena had a tos and every tos was marked in the same way…with a sturdy pole on which to display the podial crest.

"Ken-am, Qati," said Wuqat, directing his child's attention to the pole. "Ri lati-wa no kuwut." Once Qati had donned the oversized fighting gloves, Wuqat proceeded to show him how to conceal the yiheja on the back of the pole, teaching him to never touch it with bare skin even though they had both taken the counter-agent to nullify its effects. Wuqat was not a risk-taker by any stretch of the imagination but even caution demanded extra vigilance where his only remaining child was concerned. As the youngster carefully spread a bit of the poison on the pole where directed, Wuqat squeezed his narrow shoulder with pride.

Not only had he assured his victory in the battle to come, but he had also taught his son the true value of that victory. Profit ruled most conflicts but pride had its place, too. Wuqat would defeat the Human champion and wash away the dishonor of losing his other children with the blood of that fractional infant, that offensive, weak, impure error that did not deserve to live.

He would use any means possible to destroy her.

For Qati, his only living child.

For Yansa and Lennik, dead now only eight deci-cycles.

But mostly for himself. For he despised the pity in the eyes of his pod-mates and longed for the time when the name Wuqat would again equal strength and not humiliation.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres leaned her head back in the rocking chair and sighed. She was exhausted but she didn't care. No way would she spend one unconscious moment away from Seven. Not one.  
  
She looked at her lover through half-opened eyes, remembering the softness of her skin and the sweetness of her mouth and the newness of all those things just a few hours before. Now Seven regenerated, standing peacefully in her alcove where the Borg systems did what they could to prepare her body for the coming battle. Seven had already prepared her mind.  
  
After B'Elanna had made the commitment to Seven and her children, becoming wife and mother with the soft utterance of two small words, she had done what any other Klingon warrior would have done when saddled with the burden of watching her mate enter such a conflict. She'd given Seven her mother's bat'tleth and had taught her how to use it.  
  
For ten hours straight, thrust after parry after blow, B'Elanna guided Seven of Nine through the most intensive, most grueling, most agonizing bat'tleth training program imaginable. Seven never complained and B'Elanna never relented, pushing her wife harder and harder, not satisfied, not content until Seven could defeat a six-member rogue Klingon assault team without one wasted movement.  
  
Only then did she relax. Slightly.  
  
They'd returned to her quarters then, sore, bone-tired, and filthy with sweat. Without a word, B'Elanna took Seven's hand and led her to the ensuite where she silently undressed her and bathed her by hand, filling her tub with steaming water and scented oils. She washed Seven's long, golden hair carefully, reverently, then helped her from the tub, drying her off and wrapping her in a long, cool robe.

She herself showered quickly, scrubbing the tension and pain from her muscles, ringing her hair out and styling it with a shake of her head and a few tugs of her fingers. Before she'd been able to pull on her own robe, however, Seven had appeared in the doorway, her eyes a feral, hungry blue.

With head held high and nostrils flaring with raw need, the young Borg pulled the tie of her robe open and let the garment fall to the floor with a sigh.

B'Elanna'd taken a sharp breath at the sight, her body reacting instantly, fiercely. She felt her knees weaken and she braced herself against the counter with one hand even as she felt a growl begin low in her belly.

With panther-like grace, Seven stalked towards her, appraising her openly, wantonly, letting her eyes drink in the form and shape of her wife. She moved within an inch of B'Elanna, careful not to touch her, circling her like prey. She was nearly drunk just from the scent of her, the spicy, honeyed musk unique to the Klingon…and so enticing.

Slowly, so gently, Seven touched the fingertips of her left hand to the base of B'Elanna's spine, smiling a half smile when the small woman tipped her head back and let her growl rise in volume. She set her fingertips adrift, let them whisper over B'Elanna's caramel cocoa skin, up, up over the little ridges of her vertebrae, up, dipping into the small of her back, up further still, between her shoulder blades and up, up, under her damp, dark, wavy hair. B'Elanna let her growl deepen to a purr and arched into the incredible caress.

Seven's eyes became half-lidded and her breathing deepened. Her blood boiled inside her veins and she knew only one thing would cool it…

When her fingers reached the nape of B'Elanna's neck, Seven changed her touch from teasing to tempestuous, gripping her lover firmly but not harshly.

Then she kissed her. Hard. Soul-deep. Without apology. Without restraint.

What had passed between them then had been powerful...primal...needful...  
  
Before B'Elanna could get lost in her memories, though, the computer chirped unexpectedly, making her jump.  
  
"Internal sensors working. Commencing scan." A slight hum followed the computer's crisp tones and then stopped.  
  
"Regeneration cycle incomplete," said the computer, releasing a set of alcove controls. Surprised, B'Elanna looked up into iCheb's newly opened eyes.  
  
"B'Elanna," he said as a greeting, stepping precisely from his alcove. He noticed that the lieutenant was rocking a sleeping B'Etal in protective arms. "Is B'Etal well?"  
  
"She's fine," said B'Elanna dismissively, frowning with confusion. "What the Hell was that all about?" She indicated the entirely unorthodox sensor sweep with a jerk of her chin.  
  
iCheb moved to the Borg console that controlled the regeneration cycles of each of the alcoves. He entered a few commands, then turned his attention to B'Elanna, standing at attention.  
  
"I programmed the computer to perform an internal sensor sweep at this time to verify your presence. If confirmed, the computer was to interrupt my regeneration cycle. I wished to speak with you privately."  
  
 _Uh oh_ , thought B'Elanna. _Here it comes..._

She'd already had Mizati's lecture on the proper care and treatment of Seven, complete with a very short list of consequences should she fail to comply. She could only imagine what iCheb would have to say.  
  
"Go ahead," she said slowly.  
  
"Available data suggests that you and my mother have...come to an agreement regarding the nature of your relationship," he began, slightly unsure of the appropriate terminology.  
  
B'Elanna fought the urge to smile…both at iCheb's consternation and at the simple joy of hearing those words from another person. She nodded.  
  
"We have," she confirmed, wondering how this, the eldest of Seven's children, would react to the information. "We took the Oath..."  
  
"The Oath?" iCheb focused his sight inward and B'Elanna knew he was searching for a comparable reference in the vast amounts of assimilated knowledge stored in his cortical implant. After a moment, he smiled widely...the first such smile B'Elanna had ever seen from him. "The Great Oath? The most sacred of Klingon marriage rituals?"  
  
B'Elanna couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah...the Great Oath."  
  
"Then you are now also my mother," he said, still smiling. "In that event perhaps you will not be offended by my request."  
  
"Request?" B'Elanna felt her forgotten apprehension march straight back up her spine, knocking her relief and her worry out of the way without a second glance.

iCheb nodded. "Mizati has chosen the designation of 'Mama' for Seven. When B'Etal is of sufficient age to begin expressing herself linguistically, no doubt she will do the same. I am experiencing...difficulty reconciling that designation with how I feel about Seven."

B'Elanna frowned. "Why?"

"I believe I am associating the designation 'Mama' exclusively with my biological mother and the negative emotions I harbor toward her. For Mizati and B'Etal, calling Seven 'Mama' is logical and accurate. I do not feel it would be the same for me. Therefore, I have researched a variety of comparable designations. I have several choices prepared, but the one that...attracted me the most was a designation from your Klingon culture."

"And?" Now B'Elanna was completely confused. What did this have to do with her...exactly?

"And I believed it would be proper to request your permission before I committed to the designation. I did not wish to risk offending you."

iCheb smiled again suddenly and B'Elanna was astounded by the effect it had on his features. Disrupting his usually remote expression, the smile revealed a hint of his boyhood past and natural curiosity. The young Klingon wondered how she could entice the young man into smiling more frequently.

"However," he continued brightly, "you are now my second-mother. Your heritage has been added to our collective. Perhaps the designations I have chosen for Seven and for you will not offend you...provided you approve of a Klingon designation."

B'Elanna smiled. Touched by iCheb's consideration for her feelings, she shook her head slightly, confounded by two thoughts. One—how could anyone in his or her right mind engineer a child to be a weapon? And two—how could a woman who had no real experience with motherhood, personal or otherwise, raise such a wonderful son?

B'Elanna sat up a little straighter in her chair.

"A Klingon designation would be an honor, iCheb," she said softly. "For both of us."

Unable to completely hide his relief, iCheb nonetheless managed to divert another smile. He nodded instead.

"Then if it pleases you, I shall call you QanwI', the one who protects. And I shall call my mother cheghwI', the one who returns."

Considering the matter closed, iCheb turned back to the console, intent on disrupting Mizati's regeneration cycle. He did not see the tears that welled in B'Elanna's eyes or her furtive attempts to wipe them away.

_Kahless_ , she prayed, watching the young man as he prepared to greet his sister upon her waking. _Kahless, I don't ask you for much but please, please let Seven come home. Not just for me, not just because I love her. But for these kids, too. Because they need her. Please, Kahless, don't let iCheb regret the name he's chosen for her._

The chime of another regeneration cycle ending sounded in the cargo bay.

"iCheb," greeted Mizati as the regeneration cycle released her prematurely. "Has Lieutenant Torres made reparations to our mother?" Like her adopted mother and her siblings, Mizati did not believe in 'beating around the bush'. "Have they redefined the nature of their relationship?"

"They have," confirmed iCheb. "They have taken the Great Oath and have bonded as mates for life and beyond." He stepped aside and turned to face B'Elanna, allowing Mizati an unobstructed view. "B'Elanna is now our second-mother."

If iCheb's smile upon hearing the news had been bright, Mizati's was positively incandescent...and not a little smug.  
  
"I approve," she said, nodding authoritatively. She strode to B'Elanna's side and surprised her newest parent with a soft kiss on the cheek. "Welcome to our family unit, SoS'ma."  
  
Caught between her amusement at Mizati's posturing and the slightly overwhelmed feeling she was experiencing at being called 'Mother' for the first time, B'Elanna smiled.  
  
"Thanks, kiddo," she said, her voice catching with emotion. She reached out and took Mizati's tiny hand in her own, squeezing it. "I know this isn't the best timing maybe and—"

Mizati interrupted B'Elanna. "SoS'ma, do you love my mother?"

"Of course I do!" blurted the engineer without thinking.

"Are you prepared to initiate cohabitation with the four of us, functioning as her spouse and as our second parent?"

Seeing that B'Elanna's response was likely to be both positive and somewhat annoyed, Mizati continued. "Then the timing is perfect, SoS'ma." She turned her wide, hazel eyes toward Seven who was still standing in elegant repose within her alcove.

"Besides," added the little girl softly, glancing at her new mother briefly and then quickly averting her eyes. "It is traditional among both Klingons and Humans for a couple to make their bonding official on the eve of a battle. Particularly if there is the significant probability of a fatality."

* * *

  
"Unacceptable!" Mizati balled her fists at her sides, her eyes dark and menacing.

"Irrelevant," stated Seven of Nine, her own eyes flashing despite her outward calm. "You cannot go with me. You are to stay here with Mr. Neelix and the others. Where you will be safe."

The Talaxian and the others in question—Mizati's brother and best friend—tried not to stare at the arguing mother and daughter. The little girl apparently hadn't realized that she wouldn't be accompanying her mother to the Raadamani ship and when she finally did figure it out, she wasn't at all keen on the idea.

"I will not comply!" shouted the little girl. "I wish to be with you. I do not care about my safety!"

"Hey, hey," said B'Elanna, taking Mizati's hand. She turned the child around and crouched in front of her so that she would be at the child's eye level. "Kiddo, you know what? I know you want to be with your Mom right now. I do, too, and I don't care what happens to me, either."

The young Klingon took a deep breath and brushed a strand or two of Mizati's long, chestnut hair out of the child's eyes.

"It's just that if you stay here—on _Voyager_ —your Mom and I won't worry about you as much as we would if you came with us. Even if you don't worry about your safety, we do. We can't help it. We love you."

Mizati's hazel eyes widened and she looked from B'Elanna to Seven and back again.

"You...love me?"

Now it was B'Elanna's turn to look surprised. And Seven too, for that matter. The young Borg had been listening to the exchange from a distance, wanting to see the interaction between her new daughter and newer wife. But Mizati's incredulous question stunned her. She quickly took her place at B'Elanna's side.

"Of course we love you, kiddo," said B'Elanna, placing both her hands on Mizati's tiny shoulders. "Don't you know that?"

At a loss for words, Mizati could only shake her head.

"Mizati Nueves," began Seven, "you are my child. I love you with my whole heart." The young woman's usually cool voice broke under the strain of such devastating emotions. "Even if I do not return from this ordeal, I will continue to love you after my death."

B'Elanna's anger-darkened eyes snapped toward Seven.

"You are NOT going to die, Seven," she hissed.

"The outcome of this battle is not certain, B'Elanna," countered Seven. "If these are to be my final words to our children, they will not be lies." The young mother pulled Mizati to her and hugged her fiercely. "I love you, Mizati. Just as I love iCheb, B'Etal, and Naomi. However, I will not make promises to you that I cannot keep." She pulled away from the little girl a tiny bit, just space enough to look into the child's eyes. "If I do not return, your second mother will raise you and love you...and when we meet again in Sto-Vo-Kor, we will spend an eternity as a loving family."

"Dammit! This isn't right! I should be the one fighting!" B'Elanna felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes and an aching lump in her throat. She couldn't bear the thought of Seven sacrificing herself, of the children losing the first real mother any of them had ever known.

It was a small hand that reached out to her, calming her with a single touch.

"No, SoSoy. My mother has given her word. To forfeit now would bring dishonor to our family. You will accompany Mama to Pod Boi-Ovani." Mizati took a deep breath and forced herself to stand a little taller, a little straighter. Her goal was to appear courageous though she could not be sure of her success. "I will wait here and…prepare myself for all possible outcomes."

* * *

Kathryn Janeway stood in front of the mirror in her ensuite and placed the last of her pips on her dress uniform tunic. For the first time in her life, she hated what the tunic stood for. For the first time in her life, she regretted what she was.

_Why didn't I take up farming_ , she thought sourly. _Or art, like Phoebe? I'd be safe at home, with a dog and a husband and a stable life...a secure life..._ She caught the look in her eyes—fiery, remote, absolute—and her wishful thinking hit a tangible snag. _...a deadly boring life..._

No, that wasn't for her and she knew it. She had too much of her father in her, too much of his spark, his wanderlust. She'd been born to wear this uniform. She had no doubt of that.

_But just because something is meant to be, doesn't make it easy_ , she reminded herself. And wearing this particular uniform on this particular day was bound to be one of the most difficult things she would ever face. A realization that gave her no comfort whatsoever.

__Chirrup._ _

"Come," she said, pulling on the hem of her tunic one last time before entering her living area. Her first officer and chief of security greeted her, both grim-faced and solemn. Chakotay tugged viciously at the collar of his dress uniform but said nothing. Tuvok simply radiated disapproval.

"Gentlemen." She nodded at each of them, sporting her own version of their grim features. "Where's Seven?"

"We are to meet Seven and Lieutenant Torres at the mess hall. They are saying goodbye to the children at the moment."

"They?" Janeway leveled a curious gaze at her two officers.

Tuvok nodded. "I received a message from Lieutenant Torres a short while ago. She informed me she would be joining the away team. Her phrasing left no room for discussion."

Chakotay cleared his throat and looked at the floor.

"Commander?" asked Janeway, recognizing her first officer's 'guilty' look instantly. "You have something to add?"

"I'm not sure I'm supposed to let the hara cat out of the bag, Captain, but I received two requests earlier, at separate times, each asking for a personnel file to be updated from Marital Status: Single to Marital Status: Married." For the first—and probably only—time that evening, Chakotay's eyes sparkled. "One from Seven of Nine and one from B'Elanna Torres."

"Married?" Kathryn Janeway stared at her first officer blankly. _I expected them to come to an agreement on their personal relationship but marriage? It's only been a few hours! What the Hell are they thinking?_

"A logical decision," said Tuvok, nodding his unmistakable approval. If Janeway had been a little surprised before, now she was simply thunderstruck.

"Logical? You can't be serious!" Anger swept through her like a brush fire, hot and unstoppable. How dare the two of them do something like this without consulting her? How dare they presume to make such a rash and impulsive decision before weighing all the variables, before considering all the consequences?

"I am always serious, Captain," countered Tuvok. "Have you ever known Seven to hesitate once she has decided upon a course of action? Have you ever known Lieutenant Torres to be fickle or disloyal in the conferring of her affection and regard? Both women are passionate, yes, but they are also pragmatic. A marriage at this time combines both of those qualities."

"Pragmatic? How can you say that?"

Chakotay stepped forward and took Janeway's arm, leading his captain a few steps away from Tuvok.

"Kathryn, look," he said under his breath. "Pragmatic or not, like it or not, it's done. Maybe they wanted to provide for the children if this...goes badly. We all know they're in love. It really doesn't matter why they got married tonight. The truth is your little girl is all grown up and she's making her own decisions now."

Kathryn's eyes, now a deadly shade of gunmetal, snapped up to Chakotay's and she jerked out of his hold.

"Seven of Nine is not a 'little girl', Commander. Nor is she 'mine'. You are out of line."

"I don't think I am, Captain," he responded, the brown of his eyes now touched with a bit of his own steel. But it faded as suddenly as it had appeared and he softened.

"Kathryn, admit it. Seven is like the daughter you never had. We all see that." He sighed and rubbed his thumb along the bottom edge of his tribal tattoo. "And that daughter is about to fight to the death. No matter what the outcome, this can't be easy for you."

Kathryn said nothing but Chakotay saw the change in her eyes, the merest clench of her jaw.

"It's not easy for any of us. But I can't bring myself to question Seven's or B'Elanna's motives in this." He looked down at his feet, his voice becoming even softer. "What if B'Elanna becomes a widow on her wedding night, Kathryn?"

"What are you saying?" Janeway's voice was at its lowest and deadliest register.

"I'm saying that you aren't really angry about the marriage, Kathryn. I'm saying that if you don't realize that now and you say something to them about it and…and B'Elanna loses Seven tonight..."

He sighed, wondering how to make her see.

"It's okay to be angry, Kathryn. Be angry that B'Etal's life is at stake. Be angry that Seven, your surrogate daughter, has to fight to the death to win back a child's right to live. But don't be angry that Seven and B'Elanna carved some happiness out of this night." He paused for a moment. "I don't want to see you live to regret that."

Kathryn forced herself to nod in agreement although she still wasn't convinced that the marriage wasn't an ill-conceived notion that had no place in the current proceedings. However, what she saw when she walked into the mess hall tore through all of her worries and concerns as if they were tissue paper.

Seven and B'Elanna stood against one of the viewports, stars glittering behind them. B'Elanna held B'Etal and Seven had her arms wrapped around both of them, her cheek resting against B'Elanna's temple. iCheb, Mizati, and Naomi stood close around the women. They were all smiling widely, having just been ordered to say "Peaches, please..." by Neelix, who was wielding a holo-imager while Samantha Wildman looked on.

"There," said Neelix, huffing proudly once the image had been snapped. "Every family should have a family portrait of their very own." His demeanor was bright but even Janeway could see the tinge of sadness that lay beneath the Talaxian's cheer. And everything suddenly became clear to her.

How many times had she herself put off happiness in favor of some other more immediate responsibility? She had postponed marrying Justin until she made captain, thinking that would be the perfect time to begin a life together. Only Justin had died long before that day, a completely unexpected tragedy that had deeply tarnished that fourth pip when she'd finally received it. She had even postponed marrying Mark, pouring all of her energy into getting her ship ready for its maiden voyage...a maiden voyage she was still on almost eight years later.

Another person could argue that she'd been lucky not to marry, that she'd be a widow and a divorcee today as a result. But seeing Seven and B'Elanna now, watching them make the singular unspoken decision to separate the happiness of what was from the uncertainty of what was to come...Kathryn realized that she hadn't been lucky at all. She'd wasted her opportunities, always waiting for the perfect time to begin. Now she was twenty years older and still waiting.

Her throat clenched tight with the thought.

"Seven?" she called, interrupting only when the group disbanded from their pose. Seven pairs of eyes turned toward Janeway and her entourage, each pair registering its own distinct reaction to the moment. Resolution, fear, sadness, uncertainty... Janeway felt each look as a blow.

"It is time," said Seven. Though a statement, Kathryn nodded.

"The Raadamani expect us in thirty minutes."

"Has Commander Chakotay informed you of the change in my marital status?" Unconsciously, Seven reached out a single hand, finding and grasping one of B'Elanna's. The young Klingon laced her fingers with Seven's and stepped protectively closer to her wife, bristling with the obvious intention of defending both her new marriage and her new family.

Janeway nodded and found herself smiling knowingly at the two women. If she had expected domestic bliss to somehow diminish either woman's innate fire, she was happily disappointed.

"Then allow me a few moments with my family and we may proceed."

Chief among the maelstrom of emotions that assailed Captain Kathryn Janeway after that pronouncement was pain. But not the pain she expected. Certainly she was worried about Seven. Even afraid for her. It was only logical considering the circumstances. The pain, however, was solely due to Seven's usage of the word 'family'...or, more to the point, her definition of the word. Apparently, the word didn't apply to Janeway in Seven's eyes.

And that truly stung.

* * *

"Stand there."

The Raadamani guard that followed __Voyager's__ officers into the anteroom of the arena shoved Seven toward a small circle marked plainly in the center of the floor.

"Keep your hands off her, you petaQ!" snarled B'Elanna, launching herself toward the guard. Only Chakotay's quick interception kept her from making contact. The solidity of his hold kept her from gaining any distance but he knew he couldn't guarantee that would last beyond the next few seconds...let alone forever.

"B'Elanna, not now," he said through gritted teeth.

"be'nal, I am unharmed," said Seven softly. She stood tall inside the circle and gazed at her lover, letting all of her heart show in the blue of her eyes. "This is not my adversary. Do not let him distract you."

B'Elanna blinked in surprise but straightened immediately, the fight leaving her in one breath. Although she saw Seven's love for her clearly in her pale blue eyes, she also saw resolution, the calm of a warrior before battle.

__And dammit, she's right! That moH isn't worth the effort._ _

"Is this...creature...your mate?" asked the guard, seeming to chuckle at B'Elanna's expense. He wondered how the small, dark female—he guessed it was female—could be considered attractive to anyone...her obviously mixed heritage notwithstanding. He was still sneering derisively at B'Elanna when Seven's hand shot out and gripped him by the throat...tightly.

"She is my wife," she snarled into his ear, pulling the startled Raadamani closer to her than she would have preferred under normal circumstances. "You are unworthy of her presence here. You would do well to remember that."

"Urk," gurgled the guard, his eyes bulging. He clawed at Seven's hand but she only squeezed more tightly, lifting him slightly off the floor.

"Do you understand me?"

"Glaaargh," warbled the guard, clawing more desperately at his throat. The rest of the small room remained perfectly silent...and perfectly tense. When it became obvious that Seven wasn't going to let the guard go until he had answered her question, Janeway stepped forward.

"Do not interfere, Kathryn," said Seven barely glancing in the smaller woman's direction. "You are not my captain here. This is between this yIntagh and myself. He will answer me or he will die. It is his choice." Seven's grip constricted even more, the ex-Borg hesitating only when she sensed the guard's larynx about to rupture.

"Do you understand?" she repeated, knowing the universal translator made her question irrefutably clear.

"T-taaaaaaa....." The guard's eyes began to water and he fought to refrain from urinating on himself. The translator could not process his nearly incomprehensible positive response but Seven could...and did, relaxing her grip in an instant. The guard dropped heavily to the floor, gasping and clutching at his battered throat.

"Good choice," said Seven, flexing her fingers. Her eyes were a dark and dangerous blue and they never left the guard's features. "Go now. Send another in your place if it is required. I will suffer your presence no longer."

The Raadamani toad might have bowed if it had been part of his culture. Instead, he pressed himself against the curved wall of the small room, entering some sort of hasty request in a communications access plate with trembling fingers. He kept his terrified eyes riveted on Seven even though she never moved from her appointed spot nor acknowledged his presence again in any way. Within a few moments—that must have seemed like small eternities to him—a replacement guard arrived. The toad did not even wait for the new guard to enter the room before he bolted as if chased by Chaos itself.

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. He knew this Seven of Nine. Or one like her. This was the Seven that had fought for his survival aboard the Tsunkatse tournament ship, albeit a more polished, more confident version. He realized immediately that the display with the guard and with the captain—though perhaps inspired by the Raadamani's insult of her lover—was not a random reaction to it. Rather, it was a finely crafted tactic designed to infect the Raadamani collective psyche with terror...one that was likely to succeed if the guard she had "dismissed" was inclined to share his story.

He assessed the relief guard, a tall, muscular female, and nodded to himself. Seven's tactic was sound. Had she tried the same with this guard, she would have failed.

B'Elanna headed straight for Seven once the first guard had left...only to be blocked by the female Raadamani and her weapon.

"You may not pass," she droned. Claar barely looked down. The small mongrel did not concern her.

"Oh yes I can," retorted the lieutenant and she changed directions, attempting to get to Seven's side another way.

She was met again by the guard.

"You may not pass!" Claar looked closely at the mongrel for the first time and immediately re-evaluated the situation. Though small, the female possessed a dense musculature and a persistence and determination twice her size. A struggle with her would not be a simple matter.

"She is my wife!" argued B'Elanna, as if that made all the difference in the Universe. The Raadamani snorted before she could stop herself.

"Not for much longer," she muttered, amused by the thought of fractional beings bonding and such.

Before B'Elanna or anyone could respond to the taunt, a strange, humming sound began to come through the walls of the anteroom. As it grew in volume, it became clearer, more defined. Eventually the inhabitants of the anteroom could make out a single word.

Wuqat.

"What is that?" asked Janeway.

"Wuqat is the name of our champion," explained Claar. She seemed to find the chanting distasteful if the expression of disgust upon her features was any indication. "Our people have not fought a battle such as this in many cycles. They are...excited by the coming spectacle."

Excited was not the word Seven would have used to describe how she felt at the moment. Resolute, perhaps. Even resigned. But not excited.

She glanced around the anteroom as the crowd's cheering grew even louder. She met her captain's angry eyes, Tuvok's curious eyes, and Chakotay's saddened eyes. And then there was B'Elanna, her sable eyes filled with the one thing Seven had never expected to see: worry.

Seven wanted to go to her at that moment, wanted to wrap B'Elanna in her arms and comfort her, wanted to draw the stain of that look out of her eyes with soft kisses and softer promises. It angered her that she could not, that this Raadamani would not let them touch.

That small flash of anger ignited all the anger Seven held inside her. How dare these beings threaten her youngest child? How dare they believe that spilling B'Etal's blood could somehow reconcile their losses? How dare they worry her family, her wife? How dare they frighten her children?

Seven's features and mind turned to ice when she remembered saying goodbye to Mizati that one, final time. Kneeling down to take that deceptively frail body into her arms and holding her daughter to her with all the power in a mother's arms. Seeing tears roll down small, ruddy cheeks for the first time, her heart breaking to know that she was the cause, that she had brought pain to this child...her child.

__"Take this, Mama,"__ said Mizati, holding up the Queen of Hearts card that had been her constant and comforting companion since the day she'd been brought to _Voyager_. " _ _Your death is unacceptable. Take this as a reminder of those who require your presence."__

And then there was Naomi. Too brave and too "grown up" to allow her own tears to fall. She'd been the first member of Seven's new family, offering her friendship and love with no thought of compensation, no condition, no fear. Now she stood away from the children and B'Elanna, clearly hesitant to interrupt what she thought was not her domain…until Seven had confronted her.

__"They are your family now,"__ she'd said, answering Seven's query. Her smile had been unsure and a little forced. __"I am just your friend."__

__"There is nothing 'just' about our friendship, Naomi Wildman,"__ Seven had replied. __"You will always be part of my family."__

Knowing how uncertain Naomi must be feeling, how disorienting sudden and drastic change could be, Seven had asked Naomi to accompany the away team to the transporter room. She wanted to speak to the child alone for a moment.

" _ _I have a request of you, as a member of my family,"__ she'd said, kneeling in front of Naomi a few minutes before she had to beam to Pod Boi-Ovani. She knew that what she was about to ask of Naomi was serious and might become a long-term commitment on the child's part, however, she was sure no other would suffice in the role.

__"Anything, Seven."_ _

__"The outcome of this event is uncertain and I find that I am...afraid. A portion of this fear is comprised of worry for B'Elanna. If I were to... If I cease to function as a result of this battle, the probability that B'Elanna would refrain from social contact outside the circle of our children is approximately 89%. She has a history of depression and if I am not here to assist..."__ Seven had reached for Naomi's hand, taking it lightly in her own.

__"Will you look after her, Naomi Wildman? Seek her out and offer her your friendship as you once did with me? I am her wife and I love her with my whole heart. I cannot bear to think of her in pain, suffering and alone. I remember similar feelings. They were...unpleasant."_ _

Naomi had hugged Seven. Hard.

__"I promise, Seven. Cross my pericardium, hope to discorporate, stick an ancient, inefficient sewing device in my optical interface plate."__ It was an inside joke of sorts, a revised version of the old Terran rhyme customized by their friendship.

It had been time for Seven to go then. She'd stood and walked to the transporter platform, turning at the last minute.

__"I love you, Naomi Wildman,"__ she'd said over her shoulder.

__"I love you, too, Seven of Nine,"__ replied the little girl formally, her hands behind her back in a very familiar pose. Seven remembered nodding, pleased by the unconscious gesture. Then she'd stepped on the platform, flanked by her wife and her captain. B'Elanna had reached for her hand immediately.

Naomi was the last sight Seven had had of _Voyager_.

Seven let her fingers find and caress the card she carried in a special pocket inside the vest of the battle armor B'Elanna had helped her design. While strength and protection had been two of the armor's most desirable traits, Seven had added a few 'inefficient' accessories, such as the pocket now holding her daughter's prized possession. And the other one, holding a single data chip addressed simply 'To My Family'.

The rage barely caged inside Seven made her want to take the chip from its pocket and crush it into dust. She didn't want to leave her family a small fragment of green plastic that could not hope to contain her heart no matter how much data could be stored on it. She didn't want to leave her family, period.

The cheering of the crowd in the arena brought Seven back to the task at hand. The name Wuqat had become less of a simple cheer and more of a thunderous demand. Seven frowned briefly.

"How many Raadamani have been allowed to witness this conflict?" she asked Claar suddenly, startling the guard.

"Only those whose duties permit. Approximately 110 or so."

"Yet those who would...cheer...for me number only four. How do you explain the difference in the numbers?"

Claar was clearly taken aback. "I...we...assumed..."

Seven made a cold, hard sound of disgust.

"You assumed nothing. By placing me in an unknown element with few supporters, you hoped I would be psychologically damaged and that my performance here would be negatively affected. A sound tactic." She pinned the flustered guard with an iron gaze. "One that must be discarded now."

"What?" Claar wasn't quite sure what was being said.

"Either you will allow me a comparable number of supporters or I will...eliminate 106 of your supporters," said Seven calmly. "The choice is yours."

"Eliminate—? How would you—?" The guard's eyes narrowed as Seven's meaning became clear. "You could not—"

"Don't try her," countered B'Elanna, setting her hands on her hips. "Does she get what she wants or not?"

"I..." Claar tried to regain her footing in the conversation. "The arena can accommodate only a finite number of spectators. I am sure we have no space—"

"How much space would the bodies of your spectators require?" asked Seven sharply.

"Broadcast the proceedings to my ship," said Kathryn Janeway, stepping forward with her hands also on her hips. She would not have this disintegrate into a killing spree on Seven's part. Under no circumstance.

"What? I do not know if that will be allowed!"

"Then I suggest you find out," replied the determined captain. "Or would you prefer our champion's solution to the problem?"

The Raadamani guard looked from one woman to the next, realizing that she was terribly outnumbered. "Allow me a moment to confer with the Lead Pair," she said reluctantly.

Inside, she seethed.

* * *

Seven of Nine, former Borg drone and the current Astrometrics Officer aboard the starship _Voyager_ , was not happy.   
  
"Where are you taking her?"   
  
Two heavily armed Raadamani guards flanked B'Elanna Torres and were preparing to remove her from the anteroom. In response, Seven—guarded by the ever-vigilant Claar—was preparing to leap across the room and rip out their throats.   
  
Claar turned, a sickening sneer present on her features.   
  
"You are not the only one who can make demands, Human," she said. "The mates of all champions are to be placed under heavy guard. It is the law." She glanced at the diminutive Klingon and smirked. "That mongrel is your mate, is she not?"   
  
Seven's Borg-enhanced hand moved so quickly and so automatically that even she might have sworn it had moved of its own accord. The blow it delivered was fierce. Claar crashed to her knees and lost her grip on her weapon, which went spinning across the anteroom floor. A viscous umber-colored fluid oozed from her mouth and nose and dripped off her jaw.   
  
"B'Elanna Torres is the last surviving member of the Great House Km'DoQ of Qo'noS and my wife!" Seven shook with unstoppable rage. "You will address her with respect or I will reach into your body cavity with my bare hands and remove every one of your primary organ systems while you scream!" She struggled fiercely against the hold of Tuvok and Chakotay, who had hurriedly stepped forward to prevent the Astrometrics officer from doing the Raadamani guard any more damage.   
  
"be'nalwI'—" began B'Elanna. She took a step towards her wife of barely 24 hours only to be grabbed by the guards flanking her. She froze and without looking at either one of them, said with deadly certainty, "If you don't want our champion over there to kill everyone in this room, you will let me go to her." When put that way, the guards in question could easily see the preferable choice and they released their prisoner. B'Elanna hurried to Seven's side.   
  
"be'nalwI', look at me," she said quietly, acutely aware of the public nature of this conversation. She thanked Kahless that they'd been accompanied by three of the most honorable people she knew. "Look at me," she repeated when Seven would not turn away from Claar.   
  
Seven's eyes dipped to the floor for a moment and she stopped struggling. Unable to look Tuvok or Chakotay in the eye, she settled instead for an embarrassed nod.

"The guard is in no further danger from me, Commander," she whispered, addressing Chakotay. He gazed dubiously at Seven for a moment and then relaxed his hold, indicating that Tuvok should do the same. The two men returned to Janeway's side in a futile attempt to give B'Elanna and Seven some privacy.

The young Borg sighed once and then raised her eyes to find B'Elanna's and the engineer saw the naked rage and the confusion her brave lover was trying so valiantly to hide. She reached up and brushed the back of her hand along Seven's left cheek, under the optical implant that shimmered in the strange light.   
  
"I love you for protecting my honor, be'nalwI'," she said softly.   
  
Seven straightened her shoulders. "It is my duty. My honor as your mate depends on my ability to defend the greatest of your treasures."   
  
B'Elanna shook her head sadly, the smallest of smiles tinting her lips and touching her eyes. "You don't get it, do you, you Borg goof? _You_ are my treasure. The kids are my treasure. Compared to that, honor is just a five-letter word." She shook her head again, this time chuckling softly. "I swear! When we get home, I'm upgrading you with faster software." 

Seven raised the optical implant over her left eye pensively, the tension of her confrontation with the guard draining away to be replaced by a hint of humor.

"I was under the impression that you liked my—" Seven glanced down at her own lithe body and smirked. "—software?"

B'Elanna cleared her throat and threw a glance at her three superior officers, noting their studied interest in a particular anomalous curve in the wall. In fact, the same anomaly…which was at once comical and touching.

"I meant," she said, turning back to Seven and gracing her with a mock glare despite the heat creeping up her neck and flooding her cheeks, "that you are being dense."

"I am aware of that," admitted Seven, smiling. "I wished to see your blush one more time…before…" Her smile faded, replaced by uncertainty and longing.

B'Elanna's hearts clenched tight in her chest.

"Oh, Seven…" She refused to close her eyes, determined not to waste a single, precious second of sight with this woman—her wife—so close to her. She knew she might not have this chance again.

The force of that thought drove B'Elanna to do something she knew was not allowed. And she didn't care one bit.

_Let them beat me for it_ , she growled to herself. _Let them **kill** me for it! I won't say goodbye to her without holding her._

She closed the distance between herself and Seven in a rush, enfolding her taller lover in her arms and clinging to her as if she could keep her from the coming battle with the simple power of her love.

"I love you, Seven," she said in a strangled whisper, tears flooding her eyes.

"And I love you, be'nal." Seven wrapped her long arms around B'Elanna and brought her closer, savoring the heat that radiated from her wife and the feel of her curves against her own body.

"ENOUGH!" Claar launched herself at the lovers and tore them apart from one another, shoving B'Elanna toward the other guards. "You may NOT touch again! Do you understand?"

Seven's rage—that B'Elanna had so efficiently cooled—boiled over again the instant Claar laid a hand on the Klingon hybrid.

"I understand that if _you_ touch B'Elanna again, I will kill you," countered Seven, baring her incisors and nearly snarling. Barring the lack of cranial ridges and the darker skin, she had the Klingon presence mastered.

"Strong words for a dead Human," snorted Claar, striding over to retrieve her weapon. Then she sauntered to where B'Elanna stood, guarded again by the other two Raadamani—who obviously wished they were anywhere but where they were. Claar pushed one of them out of the way and took his place.

"We are armed and we hold your mongrel wife. You can do nothing."

Claar circled B'Elanna, never taking her level gaze from Seven's until she came face to face with the smaller, darker fractional being. A small alarm made her look up and she chuckled when she saw the seam in the ceiling of the anteroom begin to open. The roar of the crowd grew a hundred-fold as the orb-shaped room separated, the floor of the arena absorbing the split halves of the temporary cell quietly and efficiently.

Claar grinned evilly and said, lowly so only B'Elanna could hear, "Take a long look at her before you go, mongrel, because when she dies—and she will die—and after Wuqat drains the blood of that fractional infant as is his right, I will take great pleasure in watching you grieve…right before I rip your heart out."

B'Elanna's eyes never left Claar's, never flickered, never moved. She didn't even blink.

"Seven, stop," she ordered quietly.

Claar's grin faded a bit and she whirled around to see Seven frozen in a crouch, preparing to leap for her.

"How—?" Claar backed away from Seven, watching in horror as the young woman drew herself up to her full height again, uncurling from her crouch with the sleek and elegant grace of a predator.

B'Elanna crossed her arms in front of her and shifted her weight to one leg, eyeing Claar with a superior gaze.

"Make no mistake, you Raadamani _petaQ_ ," she said, snarling the Klingon curse. Her voice was clear and proud, easily heard by all in the arena as their cheering subsided, replaced with hushed and confused whispers. "Seven heard every word you said to me." She let that knowledge sink in, watching the disbelief play over Claar's features, watching as the guard looked between Seven and herself, clearly not knowing what to think.

B'Elanna then grinned with a malevolence that turned Claar's blood to ice. "She would have snapped your neck before you'd known what had hit you."

The Raadamani guard turned and looked at Seven, whose optical implant rose slightly in challenge. Claar read the truth of the other woman's statement in the Human champion's pale eyes.

"So I guess you owe this mongrel your life."

Claar's eyes snapped back to B'Elanna, livid, lurid with hatred and fury. With blinding speed she unsheathed her _kuruk_ —the blade that all members of the Ordinal Guard wore—and turned toward the Klingon, intending to cut the smug grin from her face.

She raised the blade to strike…and found herself screaming a nanosecond later. Her dagger clattered to the floor and she snatched her shattered hand out of the air, cradling it close to her body even as she doubled over with the excruciating pain. Dark umber blood covered her tunic, the stain growing wider by the second. She could see bone fragments and severed tendons when she looked down at the ruined extremity.

She howled with pain and rage.

Not a single pair of eyes even glanced in her direction. They were all riveted on Seven of Nine. Or her communicator now imbedded in the barrier that separated the arena from the spectators. No one—except Claar, of course—made a single sound.

"Ahem."

B'Elanna waited for Claar to quiet down before she unleashed her best evil grin.

"Two inches to the right and that thing would have come out right…here." She rested a fingertip right between Claar's eyes. The injured guard growled in spite of the pain.

"And," added the lieutenant, casually glancing over her shoulder, "I think your champion just wet himself." Her eyes glinted with smug satisfaction.

Claar hazarded a look in Wuqat's direction and found him staring at Seven, terrified. In fact, every spectator in the arena had similar looks on their stunned faces. She followed their gazes to Seven and the strange device buried in the wall and she knew how much skill and strength had been required to make the shot. Apparently the Human champion had both in abundance.

She lowered her head in shame as a pair of her fellow Ordinal Guards came to help her out of the arena.

The deep tones of the _payt-anes_ bell, the chime that accompanied the arrival of the Lead Pair to every official gathering or appearance, followed her mournfully.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"Did you see that?" Tom Paris stared unblinking at the forward viewscreen on _Voyager's_ bridge. As the injured Radamaani guard was led away, he repeated his question.  "Did you _see_ that?"

Harry Kim, sitting in the captain's chair, barely nodded, his mouth hanging slightly open. He, too, watched as the guard was led away, noting the mournful sound of bells filling the arena as the Lead Pair made their entrance—thankfully less dramatically.

"That wasn't good," he mumbled, wondering what the Hell was going on over there. And wondering if _anyone_ would survive it. A thought flashed through his mind and he hit his communicator. "Kim to Lieutenant Carey."

_"Carey here."_

"Carey, can you get a lock on the away team? In case we need to transport them to safety?"

_"Um…just a sec."_ There was a brief pause and then Carey's voice over the communicator again. _"It will take a while to get a positive lock, sir. Their shield harmonics are a little…unusual."_

"Get Vorik to help you. And anyone else you can think of. And let me know the minute you have a lock, do you understand?"

_"Aye, sir."_

Harry leaned back in the captain's chair, one eye on the proceedings taking place on Pod Boi-Ovani and one eye on the bridge crew, gauging their readiness should he call upon them to do something unexpected.

He thought about the phrase 'Aye, sir', how solid it was, how comforting. It seemed to lend him a little stability and for that, he was grateful.

* * *

Seven of Nine watched the Raadamani champion complete something called the tzit-fallit, the Enumeration of Primes. It was a simple chant apparently consisting of a chronological list of all the Primes beginning with Sokar, Child of All Pods. It did not seem particularly relevant to the proceedings however Seven was intrigued to see that the chant seemed to fortify her adversary. Gone now was the fear that only moments ago had betrayed him. In its place was a determination born of his emotional response to the chant.

Unwilling to let the Raadamani ritual disturb her own focus, Seven was keenly aware of its effect on the Raadamani observers. They became unified, a collective—of sorts—in thought and intent: the belief that Wuqat would prevail.

She hazarded a glance at her superior officers standing stiffly next to the Lead Pair and then another at her wife, under heavy guard and kept well away from the arena. Their uncertainty showed clearly in their features and their bearing. Even Tuvok did not seem his usual dispassionate self. She realized then that a ritual would be a comfort to them…if only marginally. Vulcan, Klingon, and Human, all had their own rituals and their own histories and cultures that had passed those rituals down from parent to child, from teacher to student, from elder to initiate.

Seven knew she could call up and perform one or more of those rituals, relying on the knowledge contained in her cortical implant, but she immediately discarded the idea. A ritual completed in that way would mean nothing to her supporters because it would mean nothing to her.

She needed a ritual of her own.

Uncertain about how to begin, Seven followed the Raadamani champion's example, taking her place at the tos, the place where things begin and things end.

She then let her eyes fall upon her superiors one at a time, pinning them with her sure and even gaze, nodding formally to each of them. Janeway's steel-colored eyes, clouded with worry. Chakotay's leaf-brown eyes, sad and supportive. Tuvok's black eyes, alert and aware. She kept those gazes as long as she could, trying to convey to them what she could not say aloud, hoping to remember this moment in time.

Then she turned her eyes to B'Elanna, looking into wounded fawn-colored eyes with eyes as blue and bright as the Aegean Sea in summer. She let her gaze linger the longest with her wife, holding the moment until a smile dusted her lips and the entire arena became silent, waiting for her to speak. When she was ready, Seven closed her eyes and inclined her head briefly—a reverent acknowledgement of her wife's particular place in her heart—and then turned to face the rest of the arena.

"I have no gods," she said, her voice clear and calm. Power and confidence radiated from her every pore. "I have no history or culture of my own from which to draw spiritual or religious icons. The collective that sustained me for much of my life had no use for such irrelevance." She looked to Kathryn then, noting the red of her dress uniform, remembering the first time she had seen the color as an individual and how it had affected her.

"However, one woman, in her wisdom, severed me from that collective and added me to her own." She turned to B'Elanna again, smiling fully and sweetly at the compact engineer, unable to contain what she felt for her. "And another, in her generosity, has shown me joy and love and peace." She took a deep breath and then turned again to the rest of the arena, letting her gaze fall upon as many Raadamani as she could.

"I have no gods," she repeated to them. "Instead, I have family. It is my family that gives me strength and I owe all duty and honor to them." She grasped the tos, then, and began the requisite circumference of the arena, listing as she went the members of her family: the full names of each and every crewmember or civilian inhabitant—past and present—of the Federation Starship _Voyager_.

Chakotay put a comforting hand on his captain's shoulder and though she didn't turn or acknowledge him in any way, he felt her gratitude in the way she relaxed into his touch. What he couldn't see—but he did suspect—were the tears gliding silently down her regal and otherwise stoic features.

_Phoebe, what do I do if she doesn't survive this?_ asked Kathryn Janeway silently. She couldn't believe, after everything that she'd been through with the young ex-Borg, that they'd found themselves—once again—in a seemingly untenable situation. _What comfort can I give if I have none of my own?_

Unable to do anything but watch as Seven entered into battle, Kathryn gave her mind over to something she rarely indulged in: prayer.

Wuqat, however, waiting for his opponent to join him in the center of the arena, couldn't believe his luck.

He'd finished the _tzit-fallit_ only to see the Human champion take her place at the tos, apparently intending to complete a ritual prayer of her own. Then she had grasped the pole exactly where he and Qati had placed the yiheja earlier. He almost laughed out loud, his victory now assured.

_Even your 'family' cannot give you the strength you need now, Human,_ he sneered to himself.

* * *

The _USS Voyager_ was a strange place. News traveled quickly aboard the lean, moderately sized ship. Sometimes it traveled more quickly through the ship-wide grapevine than it would have over a subspace relay network. And it knew no boundaries. All news was game, whether the details of a recent breakup or the speculation surrounding an impending promotion.

So it came as no surprise to Neelix, one of the integral cogs in the gossip machine, that confused and incredulous _Voyager_ crewmembers began arriving in the mess hall barely six names into Seven of Nine's unexpected and heartwarming recitation. Some of those who entered found friends already there and grimly took their place with them. Others had vaguely guilty expressions on their faces and Neelix made a point to seek those crewmembers out, reassuring them as best he could.

They were all more or less glued to the viewscreen, listening as Seven continued listing crew names in alphabetical order, including their ranks and—where appropriate—the dates of their deaths. By the tenth name, someone got the idea to broadcast the audio component over the ship's comm system from the beginning and Seven's resonant tones filled the corridors and crew quarters and departmental areas, stating again that she had no gods, just a family. And that she owed that family her duty and honor.

More and more crewmembers entered the mess hall, seeking the community of their comrades, while others, caught in the middle of their duties, simply stopped what they were doing to listen. It wasn't really important where they were when they heard it, it was only important that they did. And that they were together, offering support to Seven and to each other.

_"…Ensign Elspeth Harper…Crewman David Henard…Crewman Mortimer Harran…Crewman Mariah Henley…Ensign Georgina Hickman…Lieutenant Roger Hogan, deceased, stardate 50032…Emergency Medical Hologram…"_

Neelix scurried from table to table as the list continued, offering a word here, a beverage there, his smile growing wider and wider as he realized his greatest wish for Seven of Nine, former Borg drone, was coming true: she finally belonged.

Lt. Susan Nicoletti waited until Seven got through the _N_ 's then looked across the standard-issue slate gray table at her three companions, her eyes troubled.

"Did you have any idea?" she asked quietly. "Any idea at all?"

Two of them, Dell and Jenkins, just shook their heads, looking about as morose as Nicoletti felt. The third, Allison Foster, rubbed her forehead with something akin to self-recrimination.

"I feel terrible," she said softly. The others muttered their agreement.

Dell looked up briefly and tapped the fingers of his left hand absently on the tabletop. "I mean, I've worked with her a few times, you know? That Omega Particle thing and a few other times in Engineering. She was always…I don't know…aloof?" He shook his head. "Damned efficient, yeah, but aloof. I thought—well, I just thought—you know…"

"It doesn't matter what we thought, Josh. We were wrong. And leave it to the Chief to show us just how wrong we were." Susan's lips thinned into a grim line. If there was one thing she hated, it was disappointing B'Elanna Torres. And somehow—irrational as it was—she felt like she had done exactly that.

"Well," said Jenkins, breaking off a piece of the blueberry muffin she had replicated and crushing it into crumbs. She glanced briefly at the viewscreen, watching as Seven continued to circumnavigate the arena. She had just begun the _T_ 's. "We can't exactly go back and fix it, right?"

"No," agreed Susan, "but we can change how we treat her in the future." Susan Nicoletti was a brilliant engineer and a solid theorist, but she was also a steadfast optimist and she refused to believe that Seven of Nine had no future.

_"…Crewman Adam Thompson…Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, Chief of Engineering and my wife…Ensign Ligonin Trumari…Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Chief of Security…Crewman U'Lanai..."_

"I don't think the Chief will stand for anything less," said Dell, his eyebrows climbing his forehead in fearful consideration of the consequences should he or anyone else aboard _Voyager_ now fail to treat Seven of Nine with respect and kindness.

Susan quirked her mouth into a rueful smile. "You're right there," she conceded. "But that's not exactly what I meant." She grinned then, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Listen, I've got a plan…"

Susan easily gained her colleagues' support for Operation Welcome Home and, as the senior officer in the group, she took it upon herself to assign each of them duties to perform to make it a success. When she was done, the crewmembers dispersed to seek out other tables, recruiting more assistance for the 'mission' than any of them first expected.

They stopped only when they heard the first clang of blade against blade. It was a sparring move, a test by both warriors to gauge strength and reflexes. Another clang, another test. Another. Yet another. Seven's bat'tleth seemed the most intimidating of the weapons wielded, but the Raadamani's slisss blades were proving to be agile in their own way as he deftly parried each blow.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as Seven whirled into a spinning attack, arcing her blade high overhead as if to strike from above. At the last possible second she pulled hard on the blade and changed her angle of attack by almost 25 degrees, catching Wuqat of Pod Boi-Ovani completely off guard. He howled in pain as the Human's weapon sliced across his shoulder, leaving a deep gash in its wake.

The observing crewmembers sat absolutely stock still as the image of Seven of Nine on the viewscreen reached out and slid two fingers along the forward edge of her bat'tleth blade, wiping a thick, umber-colored liquid from it with barely concealed disdain. She flicked the offending substance from her fingers, raising her ocular implant challengingly.

"First blood is mine," she said.

A roaring cheer detonated through _Voyager's_ mess hall.

* * *

_Something's wrong. Why is she still standing?_

Wuqat caught the Human's blade on his left slisss just at the last second and scowled. The creature should have been driven to her knees by now. The poison should have begun to break down her neural pathways, affecting her motor skills, her sight, her cognitive abilities. But none of that seemed to be happening.

"Gharrrrgh!"

He blocked another deadly combination from Seven with something close to desperation, his own movements becoming less precise. One of his blades slid down the bat'tleth and Seven pushed him off, unbalancing him as she did so. He turned to catch himself and caught her chin with the tail of his blade, the resulting ribbon of crimson startling against her pallor.

Sweat rolled down Wuqat's face and chest. His muscles bunched and screamed as the fight took its toll on his energy reserves. He began to panic, the sensation hitting him high in his throat, making him swallow reflexively. His eyes darted to his wife, Nai, held under guard near the Human's mate. She had Qati with her and both of them looked terrified.

His focus careened back to Seven of Nine just as she crouched to sweep his feet out from under him. He threw himself into a backward roll and came up standing, seeing the Human's metal eye plate rise with something akin to respect. It did not comfort him. Instead, his breaths came in shallow gasps, barely sips of air, and his eyesight seemed to be narrowing, able to see only his opponent and her elegant weapon.

_Why are you still standing?_ he screamed at her.

* * *

_Something is wrong. The temperature in this arena has elevated beyond acceptable levels._

Seven wiped the blood from her chin with her Human hand, momentarily fascinated by the sight. She took several deep, cleansing breaths and took stock of her situation while the Raadamani champion stood across from her, breathing shallowly. He looked…distressed, which surprised her, as he was more than holding his own against her attacks.

She rested her bat'tleth against her leg and looked around the arena, trying to determine if the change in temperature was another tactic to disrupt her focus. As hot as it was, she realized she should have been perspiring…but she was not. In fact, her skin seemed tight and somewhat cool to the touch. She frowned but dismissed the symptom as inconsequential. It was probably a simple reaction to stress, nothing more.

She reached for her bat'tleth, intending to take the battle to another level with a complicated cross-body move, when the unthinkable happened.

She missed.

Eyes wide, Seven stared down at her Human hand, completely flabbergasted. It had not been a matter of micrometers. She had missed the blade by at least 5 centimeters. And now there was a most unusual sensation in her fingertips: a burning effervescence that soon became pain. The pain became brighter as she stared incredulously at her hand and then it started to creep up her arm, leaving a numbness in its wake.

Round, blue eyes, suddenly frightened, snapped to Wuqat's features and his look of uncertainty slowly turned to one of smug satisfaction.

_What have you done to me?_ she cried.

* * *

_Something's wrong. Sweet Kahless, something's very, very wrong._

"Torres to Janeway."

B'Elanna's eyes were fixed on Seven, watching as she stared down at her hand. Every molecule in her body willed Seven to be alright even though she clearly saw that she wasn't.

_"Janeway, here. What is it, B'Elanna?"_ Janeway turned to look up at the Chief Engineer in the back of the arena but she couldn't see her very well through the rest of the crowd.

"Something's wrong with Seven, Kathryn," said B'Elanna urgently, forgetting protocol completely. "We've got to stop this. Now."

Janeway looked back at Seven, her brows crowding low over her eyes. Seven was staring at her hand, looking at it as if it had just started speaking Romulan. And although it did concern her, it didn't seem to be evidence of something pressing enough to forfeit the battle, which is what B'Elanna appeared to be asking her to do.

_"Can you be more specific, B'Elanna? What's wrong?"_

"I don't know!" B'Elanna hit the rail in front of her with a clenched fist, startling several nearby spectators with her outburst. "She reached for the bat'tleth but she missed it. She missed it! That just doesn't happen. Not with Seven."

_"Could it be fatigue, B'Elanna? Or—"_

"No! No, it's NOT fatigue! Kahless' left thumb, she's Borg! She's—"

_"Calm down, B'Elanna. That's an order."_ The last thing Janeway needed was a panicked half-Klingon rampaging through the arena.

"She has a point, Captain," said Tuvok grimly, indicating B'Elanna. "Seven of Nine would not exhibit signs of fatigue this early in such a battle. She endured significantly longer battles aboard the Tsunkatse tournament ship, even without the opportunity to regenerate. I believe the lieutenant is accurate when she says there is something wrong."

"If B'Elanna is right and there is something wrong with Seven, what can we do about it?" asked Chakotay. "I don't think Seven would be very pleased if we forfeited this battle for her."

Janeway shut her eyes for one brief moment, wishing she were anywhere else but in this situation. Just when it seemed she'd made it through another rock and a hard place, she found a bigger rock and a harder place.

But Chakotay was right. They had no right to forfeit this battle for Seven. And if they did, God only knew what the consequences would be.

_"B'Elanna, keep an eye on her. Keep me posted on any changes."_

"But—"

_"Lieutenant Torres,"_ said Janeway slowly, _"that's an order."_ She rubbed her forehead and turned towards B'Elanna, wishing the engineer wasn't halfway across the arena, alone and afraid. _"That's all we can do for now, B'Elanna,"_ she continued more gently. _"I wish to God we could do more."_

"Understood," acknowledged B'Elanna softly and she closed the comm link. She looked down at the floor of the arena, watching as her lover's stance went from one of confidence to one of disbelief, of question.

_It's our blood, be'nal,_ she whispered. _Our blood, forever and ever, remember?_

* * *

Seven of Nine reached for the bat'tleth with her Borg-enhanced hand, noting that it, at least, still seemed to be functioning with some normalcy. She lifted the blade slowly, managing somehow to wrap the fingers of her numb right hand around its ghop'etlh, the rightmost of the three 'blade hands'.

She tried to take a deep breath but realized—with some alarm—that she could not. Her lungs felt thick and slow and she was only able to take in a small gulp of air. A strange sensation began in her chest and abdomen then; a fluttering, buzzing emptiness that she realized could easily consume her reason if she did not control it.

_I am experiencing panic. Unacceptable._

Seven manually activated a phalanx of diagnostic nanoprobes from her cortical node, reasoning that the more she knew about her condition the less likely she was to indulge in emotional chaos. The information they returned did not lessen her fear. A neural toxin had been introduced to her organic systems, following the axonal pathways provided by her nerve endings, destroying her synaptic relays as it made its way to her brain.

Her nanoprobes, at first able to counteract the toxin's effects, were now overwhelmed as it invaded non-neural cells and took them over, creating—in essence—microscopic toxin factories. For every one that the nanoprobes were able to neutralize, five more started up production, pumping more of the insidious poison throughout her body.

_I am…dying._

Seven glared at Wuqat, noting the changes in his body language and stance as he became more confident, watching him as he casually adjusted the fastenings on his blades. The buzzing emptiness inside her became a black hole that cut right through her, dislodging the steadying hold of her dispassionate Borg nature. She saw her adversary and his weapons as if for the first time. His superior height, his conditioned musculature and dense skeletal system as well as the vicious blades that curved sinuously around each of his closed fists and down the outside of each of his forearms until they terminated in what could only be described as 'gutting hooks'.

Terror rolled off her body in waves.

Seven licked suddenly dry lips and turned, anxiously looking for B'Elanna in the crowd. She thought about opening a channel to her wife—to tell her what was happening, to tell her she would have to protect B'Etal—and realized too late that her communicator was lodged in the arena barrier, useless to her now. Wide, blue eyes found her wife and saw her struggling with a pair of guards who were attempting to keep her from making a run for the arena. Other guards were converging on the Klingon's location even as Seven watched.

_There is no more time._

Seven slowly rounded on Wuqat and narrowed her eyes, her flame-blue gaze coalescing into a razor-edged beam of wrath. Gone was her panic and fear, replaced now by one singular, feral purpose. She knew she had only moments of mobility and consciousness left, enough perhaps for one more attack. She had to save her daughter and her wife. Her family would remain whole as long she still drew breath.

She hefted the bat'tleth carefully and released a sub-vocal growl from the pit of her belly, warning the Raadamani of his coming fate. He froze where he stood, his confidence fading as quickly as it had come.

The pain in Seven's limbs became agony and she let her growl rise in volume, using it to anchor her mind and body to her purpose. She lifted B'Elanna's family blade across her body and shifted from leg to leg, testing her ability to keep standing, to move with certainty. Satisfied, she sprang forward, lifting the bat'tleth high over her head. She brought it down with deadly precision and a battle cry the likes of which no one in the arena had ever heard before.

Wuqat saw his death in the cobalt of his enemy's eyes and he could not move. Every molecule of his being screamed at the sight of her leaping for him and he could not move. He felt the heat of her wrath bearing down on him, saw her dig for and find a core of strength within that he hadn't anticipated and still he could not move.

"Aya!!"

Qati's anguished cry broke through Wuqat's paralysis and—having no time for anything more—he dropped into a crouch and crossed his slisss over his head, attempting to shield his face from the coming blow.

The two champions' blades connected with a massive _crack_ …

Time itself became a spectator and held its breath as the great blade of the House of Km'DoQ split in half on impact, sending Seven's arms wide as her body continued forward, irrevocably committed to its path.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Eyes round and filled with shock, her mouth frozen in a silent scream, Seven of Nine looked down at Wuqat just as his eyes, filled with disbelief, looked up.

He laughed.

He pushed upward and laughed as her scarlet blood ran down his arms. He stood up and laughed even as she gasped for breath. He kept her poised on his dual blades for a moment and then pushed out with his right elbow, rolling the Human champion down his left slisss, catching her with its gutting hook.

He grunted as he forced the hook through the meat and metal of her side and laughed as she collapsed bonelessly to the floor. Relief washed through him, sweet and bright. He had won. He had defeated the Human champion and had earned the right to claim reciprocal action on that filthy mongrel infant. He wanted to shout to Chaos itself that today— _today_ —Wuqat of Pod Boi-Ovani was invincible.

He looked at the pathetic Human as she tried to pull air into lungs filling with his poison. He sauntered over to her and kneeled at her side, chuckling with contempt.

"I hope you enjoyed the time you spent with that fractional infant," he sneered down at her, leaning in close so she would hear every word. "I know I will enjoy draining her impure blood."

He tipped his head up to laugh again and stopped suddenly, unable to make a sound. Horrified, he looked down at the Human champion and saw the ruined half of her weapon buried in his throat.

"I hope…you enjoyed…your…last…breath!" gasped Seven as she shoved the blade deeper into the Raadamani's neck, hearing the satisfying _crunch_ as what was left of her bat'tleth severed his vertebrae. "You will not…TOUCH… my daughter," she hissed, watching his dead weight fall away from her.

Seven of Nine felt the darkness coming to swallow her and she used what little strength she had left to turn her head to where she knew B'Elanna would be standing. She gazed up at her wife's horror-filled features, smiling through her pain and the blackness nibbling away at the edges of her consciousness.

_She loved me_ _back_ , she thought wonderingly.

"maj dok…" she whispered, reaching out to B'Elanna with one bloody hand…as if to touch her beautiful face one last time.

* * *

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

Kathryn Janeway wrenched her gaze from Seven's broken body and turned towards the origin of that heartbroken scream just in time to see two Raadamani guards go flying through the air.

"Chakotay—" she began only to see a flash of red as he sprinted past her, already on his way to B'Elanna. Satisfied that he would get her chief engineer to safety, Kathryn began to make her way toward Seven. She slapped her communicator as she took her first step.

"Janeway to Voyager. Harry, beam—"

_"Way ahead of you, ma'am,"_ replied the ensign calmly just as Seven of Nine disappeared in a haze of silvery-blue sparkles. _"Seven's in Sickbay now, Captain. We'll have a lock on the rest of you in just a minute."_

With Seven already transported to _Voyager_ , Kathryn changed focus immediately, turning to make her way to B'Elanna instead. A cluster of Raadamani guards surrounded her chief engineer and she could only see a flash of ochre here and there as B'Elanna fought them, desperation and despair blinding her to the overwhelming odds.

The Klingon howled with frustration as more guards surrounded her and she doubled her effort to break free of them. Janeway knew it was only a matter of time before one of the Raadamani drew a weapon and took her officer down; something she hoped to avoid at all costs.

Chakotay and Tuvok were closer to B'Elanna's location than she was, but they were in no better position to prevent any harm the Raadamani might do to the engineer. And although the Raadamani seemed to be showing remarkable restraint with the angry, frightened young woman, Janeway had no way of knowing how long that would last.

"Make it snappy, Harry," she ordered. "We've got problems here."

_"Understood, Captain."_

Within seconds Janeway gratefully felt the telltale grip of the transporter beam as it lifted her out of the Raadamani arena and deposited her back on the blissfully familiar deck plating of her ship. Before she had a chance to release a sigh of relief, however, all Hell broke loose.

"SEVEN!" B'Elanna, caught by the beam out while in the middle of wrestling with two particularly strong Raadamani guards, fell forward as the transporter released her. She collided with Chakotay who immediately grabbed her arms in a futile attempt to restrain her.

"Let me go!" she screamed, throwing herself into a sideways roll. The two struggling officers fell off the transporter platform but to his credit, Chakotay kept hold of the battered Klingon.

Before anyone had time to react, Harry's voice sounded over the comm.

_"Captain, the Lead Pair are hailing us and the Doctor is requesting additional power from—"_

B'Elanna seized the distraction and head-butted Chakotay with teeth-rattling brutality, instantly rendering him unconscious. Once freed of his hold, she growled and began untangling herself from their awkward position on the floor.

"Take care of it, Ensign," snapped Janeway as she motioned to Tuvok. "We're a little busy down here at the moment."

_"Uhh…aye, sir."_ The comm link closed abruptly.

Tuvok effortlessly sidestepped B'Elanna's attempt to crush his kneecap and reached down, gripping the young woman's accessory nerve where it met the biarticulate cranial fibers of her upper trapezius, applying the ages old reflexology trick for which his people were known. B'Elanna slumped to the floor, completely unconscious.

Janeway looked to where Carey and Vorik stood unmoving behind the transporter console. Vorik seemed none the worse for wear but Carey was positively white.

"Lieutenant Carey, we could use someone with some medical experience down here," she suggested gently.

The young man jumped as if smacked. "Yes, ma'am," he said, his fingers flying over the console.

Janeway gave Carey an appreciative smile as she made her way to B'Elanna Torres. Chakotay started to come around and Tuvok knelt beside the first officer and helped him to sit upright.

"Are you alright, Commander?" asked Janeway as she gracefully folded herself down onto the deck plating and pulled B'Elanna's still unconscious form into her lap.

"I'm fine, Captain. All in a day's work," grimaced Chakotay, wincing slightly as he touched the sizable knot growing on his forehead. He nodded at B'Elanna. "How is she?"

Janeway brushed an errant sable hair or two away from B'Elanna's face, noting the bleeding cut under her right eye and the multitude of bruises purpling her jaw and now the delicate ridges of her brow. "Superficial injuries, Chakotay. Though she'll probably have one Hell of a headache when she wakes up, if you're any indication."

"And Seven?" he asked quietly. Kathryn shrugged apologetically, her gray eyes giving away her fears for the young Borg.

The doors to the transporter room opened then, admitting Sam Wildman and Joshua Dell, both carrying emergency med-kits.

"Oh god," whispered Sam as she rushed over to B'Elanna and the captain, kneeling quickly at their side and opening her kit. "What happened?"

"Bumps and bruises, Ensign," said Janeway, remaining still as Sam examined the fallen engineer. "And Tuvok had to…sedate her. Can you wake her?"

Sam nodded pensively. "But I'd like to wait until I get these other injuries healed, if you don't mind, Captain."

"Absolutely," agreed Janeway. She knew B'Elanna was not likely to sit still for very long once she was conscious again. She watched as Sam waved the dermal regenerator over B'Elanna's face and wrists and was surprised to see a gentle tremor in the young blonde's hands as she worked. She remembered, then, just where Sam was supposed to be.

"Where are the children?" she asked gently, putting a steadying hand on the young mother's arm.

"iCheb's watching them," replied Sam, looking up with saddened eyes. "They don't know about Seven yet. I wouldn't let them watch the battle."

"How is Seven?" asked Chakotay as he submitted to Crewman Dell's ministrations. The knot on his forehead had already been reduced to a dull, reddish spot.

"She's in surgery, Commander," said Sam grimly, pointedly not looking at her commanding officers. "That's all I know."

Janeway and Chakotay glanced at one another over the ensign's shoulder, their long years in the Delta Quadrant together allowing them to speak volumes without uttering a word.

"I think I should go to the Bridge, Captain," said Chakotay, rising from the floor as soon as Dell had cleared him to stand. "I'm sure Harry thinks we've abandoned him."

"By all means, gentlemen," she said, including Tuvok with a small wave of her hand. She could see that he was fairly itching to get away from the thickening emotions in the room. "If you need me, you'll know where I'll be."

Both officers nodded at their captain before taking their leave of her, followed by Joshua Dell. Sam made a move to administer a stimulant to B'Elanna then, but Janeway held up her hand, halting the action. She knew B'Elanna wouldn't want Vorik or Carey to see her like this.

"Lieutenant Vorik, Lieutenant Carey, I'm sure your Engineering crew is looking for you."

Vorik immediately began to exit but it took a minute for Carey to jumpstart himself. When they had both reached the door, Janeway called to them.

"Gentlemen, good work." Her eyes softened with a gentle smile. "And thank you."

Both men nodded at the captain and exited hastily. When the door had shut behind them, Janeway turned to Sam.

"Before you wake her, Sam, you should know that it was B'Elanna who attacked Chakotay—"

Sam gasped slightly and Janeway shook her head. "It was an accident," she explained, not wanting Sam to think the worst. "She didn't know where she was. She was fighting to get to Seven when Voyager transported us out of there." She looked down at the currently peaceful Klingon engineer, knowing all too well what she was going through. "I don't know how she'll react when you wake her," she admitted softly. Then she pinned the young woman with steely eyes. "But if she becomes violent, I want you to let me handle it."

Sam nodded her assent and pressed the ready hypospray to B'Elanna's neck. The hiss of a pale green drug entering B'Elanna's system shattered the troubled silence of the room.

Cinnamon-colored eyes fluttered open, cleared, and turned black with rage all within a matter of seconds. The young Klingon woman launched herself off the floor, clenched her fists at her side, threw her head back and howled. It was the most agonized, most heartrending, most despairing sound Janeway had ever heard…and it went on for an eternity.

Janeway rose from the floor and motioned to Samantha Wildman that she ought to move as far away from B'Elanna as possible. Then she stepped between B'Elanna and the door. Samantha gathered up the medical equipment and closed it back in the med-kit, pulling it and herself backward towards the transporter console. Tears streamed unchecked down her face at the sound of her friend's desolation.

B'Elanna's howl disintegrated into a hoarse wail of grief until her exhausted lungs finally gave out and she fell silent. She kept her head tilted back and her eyes closed for a moment longer and then turned, pinning Janeway with a look as black and as void of feeling as any she had ever seen.

"Where is she?" Though her voice was low and ragged, it left the other women no doubt of the pain and rage that still boiled beneath her seemingly calm exterior.

"She's in Sickbay, B'Elanna—"

Having heard all she needed to hear, the young Klingon headed for the door only to find herself intercepted by Janeway.

"Let me go to her."

Janeway crossed her arms over her chest and leveled one of her sternest glares at the lieutenant.

"That's not a good idea, B'Elanna." Her voice left no room for argument.

B'Elanna bristled, her muscles tensing for a fight. "You can't keep me here," she growled. "I won't let you."

Kathryn knew all too well that B'Elanna would have little problem overpowering her if they came to blows. But still she stood her ground.

"And I can't let you go," she countered succinctly.

"LET ME GO TO HER!" B'Elanna's body shook with unadulterated rage as she menacingly leaned toward her commanding officer. She was quickly coming apart at the seams. She wanted only one thing: to see Seven. Nothing else mattered.

"Absolutely not. Not while you're like this, B'Elanna." Janeway saw her young officer's eyes bloom with hatred and violence and she quickly and softly added, "You can't do anything for her now—"

The words were like a blow and B'Elanna staggered back, her face now slack with disbelief. "I can do EVERYTHING for her," she roared. "I am her wife! It is my duty, my _privilege_ to perform the _Hegh bey_ , to warn Stovokor that a warrior such as they have never seen is coming!" Tears flooded B'Elanna's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She fell to her knees as the angry sea of her grief rushed to overtake her.

"I can hold her in my arms…kiss her…one last time…" Too long denied, anguished sobs wrenched themselves from her throat and she fell forward, crushed by the weight of her despair. "I can tell her I love her," she cried.

She looked up with eyes so bleak, so filled with pain that Kathryn felt tears spill down her own cheeks before she could stop them.

"I can tell her…goodbye," she whispered sadly.

Kathryn charged forward and fell to the floor in front of the young woman.

"No, no, no, darling," she cried, gathering B'Elanna into her arms and cradling her as she would a child. "Oh god, B'Elanna," she wept, "Seven's alive! I'm so sorry—I didn't realize—" She cupped B'Elanna's tear-stained face in her hands and forced the young Klingon to look at her. "Seven's alive, sweetheart! Do you hear me? She's still alive!"

It took a minute for B'Elanna to process what she was hearing and she simply blinked up at Kathryn Janeway, her sobs becoming confused hiccups.

"She's…alive?" she asked shakily.

Kathryn nodded through her own tears. "She's in surgery. The Doctor is doing everything he can to save her, but yes, she's still alive." She smiled down at her officer, this young, brave woman who had come to mean so much to her over the years. She rocked her soothingly and stroked her sable hair. "Hold onto that, darling. Don't give up on her."

"She's alive." The statement was curiously devoid of feeling, as if B'Elanna still hadn't processed the information. Then—suddenly—she laughed.

"She's alive!"

Kathryn nodded down at her and B'Elanna laughed again, burying her face against Kathryn's tunic. Relief sparkled through her body like sunshine over water.

Samantha, still partially hidden behind the transporter console, laughed with B'Elanna, ignoring her own tears. Kathryn Janeway just hugged her young charge again…fiercely.

"I think I'll walk you up to Sickb—"

Before Kathryn could complete her thought, the decidedly harried voice of iCheb broke over the comm system.

_"iCheb to Ensign Wildman."_

Samantha quickly tapped her communicator, her smiling features melting into a frown of concern.

"iCheb? What is it? What's wrong?"

_"Mizati…accessed the console in your quarters, Ensign,"_ he said hurriedly _. "She became extremely…upset. I believe she is heading for Sickbay. Naomi and I are in pursuit."_

"Oh Kahless," breathed B'Elanna, blanching at the thought of Mizati barreling into Sickbay only to see her mother broken and bleeding on an operating table. "Kathryn—"

Janeway was already ahead of her. "Come on, let's go," she said, helping B'Elanna off the floor. "You too, Sam," she added grimly. "We have some children to comfort."

 


	8. Chapter 8

Mizati Nueves' reckless invasion of Sickbay came to a screeching halt as soon as she entered the room and saw the horror of the scene laid out before her.

Her mother lay unmoving on an operating platform while not one but TWO Emergency Medical Holograms hovered over her. The hands of one of the doctors were moving so fast in their task that even Mizati's Borg-enhanced eyesight couldn't follow them. Tom Paris worked independently of the two holograms, using a deep-tissue regenerator and skin-regenerative gel packs to repair some vicious slashes across Seven's torso.

But what terrorized the little girl, what burned through her tiny body, leaving her frozen with her back painfully arched and her eyes so wide that the whites showed all the way around her irises, was the blood. Blood on Tom's hands and surgical tunic. Blood staining the operating platform. Black blood drying on her mother's left hand.

So much blood.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres, fuelled more by maternal and spousal distress than by any latent Klingon trait, reached the Sickbay before anyone else. She bolted through the doors and skidded to a stop almost immediately as the scent of blood swamped her, overwhelming her enhanced olfactory senses. The knowledge that it was Seven's blood—and a lot of it—doubled her over with wave after wave of dizzying nausea.

Mizati, completely unaware of B'Elanna's presence behind her, chose that precise moment to come out of her shock-induced stupor, letting loose a piercing, terrified shriek.

Reacting on instinct alone, B'Elanna reached around the little girl, covering her eyes with one hand and lifting her off the ground with the other. She turned and fled the Sickbay, Mizati still shrieking uncontrollably. She ran a short distance down the corridor until she stumbled and fell against the bulkhead, sliding down it until she landed on the deck with a _thump_. She turned Mizati around to face her and cradled the eight-year-old in powerful arms.

"I've got you, honey! It's okay!" B'Elanna's voice was hoarse with unshed tears as she rocked her older daughter like she would a much younger child. "I'm here, sweetie! I'm here. I'm right here…"

Mizati flung her arms around B'Elanna's neck and held on for all she was worth, her shrieks becoming relentless sobs. Her face was contorted in pain and hot tears streaked down her ruddy cheeks. She released her fear in a howling cry of the only word she could formulate in her mind.

"MAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

Kathryn Janeway and Samantha Wildman heard the desolate cry and broke into a run, rounding a corner of the corridor just as iCheb and Naomi rounded a corner from the opposite direction. Fearing the worst, the starship captain knelt down next to B'Elanna and her distraught charge.

"She ran in before I got there," explained the young Klingon. "There's…a lot of blood. So much blood, Kathryn." She closed her eyes against her daughter's chestnut hair for a moment, trying to block the memory from her own mind.

Mizati clutched at B'Elanna with a death-grip, crying hysterically, saying "SoSoy" over and over. B'Elanna stroked her hair and tried to shush her with whispered nonsense noises.

Kathryn put her hand on Mizati's back and rubbed it gently, her heart breaking to feel the rolling shudders of the little body beneath her. She looked up and caught Sam's eye.

"Sam, would you see if the Doctor could use an extra pair of hands in there?" she asked, indicating Sickbay. "I'm sure my captain's assistant and I can handle this."

Sam watched as Naomi snapped into parade attention at the mention of her 'rank' and nodded, feeling a wash of pride for her precocious daughter. "Of course, Captain." She lovingly ruffled Naomi's hair just once before hurrying through Sickbay's doors.

Kathryn waited until the doors shut behind her ensign before calmly taking a seat next to B'Elanna. "Now iCheb," she began, reaching over and pulling Mizati into her lap amidst the little girl's hiccupping protests, "Why don't you sit down next to your mother there and let her hold that beautiful baby girl for awhile, hmm? And Naomi and I will see what we can do to help dry Mizati's tears." She patted the carpet next to her and Naomi immediately took the offered seat, reaching out for one of Mizati's hands and holding it tightly.

B'Elanna watched all of this in a daze, slightly stunned by the scene before her, until she heard a quiet voice to her left.

"QanwI'," said iCheb as he leaned over to put B'Etal in her waiting arms. "I am relieved to see you are well."

B'Etal squirmed and fussed—obviously disoriented by all the commotion—until B'Elanna settled her in her customary place: cuddled against her sternum. B'Elanna waited until the little one quieted before she pulled iCheb into a fierce one-armed hug.

"I'm so sorry, iCheb," she whispered, tears welling again in her exhausted eyes. "I should have protected her. I should have done more…fought harder…"

iCheb pulled back just enough to shake his head. "No one could have done more, QanwI'. Was it not you who instructed cheghwI' in the way of the blade? Was it not you who first noticed that she was not functioning within accepted parameters?"

B'Elanna gasped slightly. "How do you know about that? You didn't— Sam didn't let you two watch the battle, did she?"

The young Brunali lowered his eyes. "No, QanwI'. I used my assimilation tubules to access and monitor Voyager's communications network without Ensign Wildman's knowledge. I know it was wrong to do so, however—"

He seemed at such a loss for words, caught between remorse for having deceived Sam and yet relief that he had done so, that B'Elanna couldn't find it in her hearts to rebuke him for the infraction. Instead, she hugged him harder.

Unaccustomed to so much emotion and so much physical closeness, iCheb gently extracted himself from his second-mother's strong embrace. Unwilling to let her go uncomforted, though, he shyly took her free hand in both of his, holding it as if it were an object made of the most delicate glass.

B'Elanna just grinned gratefully at her son and nuzzled the baby's now sleeping head, comforted more than she could say by her family's mere presence.

Mizati continued to sob half-heartedly while Kathryn rocked her gently.

"My goodness," she exclaimed, gazing into Mizati's watery hazel eyes. She cupped the little girl's face in her hands and wiped away a few tears with her thumbs. "So many tears for such a little girl!" She winked at Naomi, knowing the smart young Ktarian would catch the meaning behind the gesture. "Captain's Assistant Wildman, is this normal for a Norkadian of this age and size? Have you studied the lachrymal output of the Norkadian species?"

Naomi giggled for just an instant before she fastened her own version of the famed 'Janeway Command Mask' in place. "No ma'am," she answered seriously. "However, I would be happy to research the topic for you, if you wish. I could have a report to you by tomorrow morning."

Mizati regarded both the captain and her friend dubiously, her sobs all but forgotten.

"Of what <sniff> possible value <sniffle> would a report on <sniff> Norkadian lachrymal output be?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Kathryn brightly. "If it were a large amount, perhaps it could be collected and used to relieve drought conditions on afflicted planets? Or—"

"Or," interrupted Naomi, "what if the secretions had medicinal properties? The lachrymal output of Norkadians would be very important then."

"Medicinal…properties?" Mizati gazed blankly at Naomi for a moment before she turned to her SoSoy and gave her a look that clearly said _Are these two serious??_

B'Elanna chuckled in spite of herself.

"Medicinal properties! Good thinking, Captain's Assistant Wildman," complimented Kathryn, patting Naomi's leg. "Think of the good that could be done with an organic cure to the Onkaran Flu, for example."

"Or with an antidote for leeolaroot poisoning!" chimed in Naomi, giggling openly now.

"Or," said B'Elanna as she joined the silly conversation, leaning over to snuffle at Mizati like a wild beast. "How about as an elusive remedy for Targh dander allergies?"

It was all too much for the little girl. Faced with such absurdity in addition to being thoroughly tickled by her SoSoy, Mizati squealed with laughter. And once she did, so did everyone else, including iCheb.

B'Etal—who had been blissfully asleep—did not appreciate the sudden noise and she screwed up her tiny face and let out an earsplitting wail of disapproval. Which only made everyone laugh a little harder.

Until Chakotay ruined it for them all by contacting the captain.

_"Bridge to Janeway."_

Everyone sobered quickly as Kathryn tapped her communicator.

"Janeway here. What is it, Chakotay?"

_"I've just finished speaking with the Lead Pair, Captain. They have conceded victory. Documents finalizing Voyager's custody of B'Etal will be transmitted to us within the hour."_

Janeway glanced over at her chief engineer, who was now gazing dreamily at the baby in her arms. It wasn't hard to see that she was finally allowing herself to imagine B'Etal's future…and a bright one at that. The captain smiled indulgently.

"Thank you, Chakotay. I'm sure her family will be happy to hear that."

_"There's more, Captain. It appears that the Raadamani champion, Wuqat, somehow introduced a neural toxin into Seven's blood stream."_ B'Elanna's head snapped up at the news, her ire instantly ignited. _"Descriptions of the toxin's effects and the antidote have already been sent to Sickbay. The Lead Pair wished to convey their deep regret over their champion's actions. They wanted to meet with you personally—"_

Kathryn shook her head. "They'll have to wait, Chakotay," she said, cutting him off. She looked down at Mizati who was still seated in her lap. "I'm needed here at the moment."

_"Understood, Captain. Bridge out."_ No one needed to see it to know Chakotay was smiling.

Kathryn turned her gaze back to her lieutenant. "Congratulations, B'Elanna," she said softly. B'Elanna managed a watery little smile in return. Kathryn reached out and squeezed the young Klingon's hand once and then leaned her head against the bulkhead behind her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing her command mask to slip a little further as she finally released some of the tension and anguish of the last few days.

After a few moments of silence, she felt a small tug on her sleeve.

She opened storm-blue eyes. "Yes, Mizati?"

The eight-year-old looked up at the captain with curious features.

"Are you our grandmother now?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Before the startled captain could respond, Sickbay's doors whooshed open. All eyes in the corridor turned to the sound and one by one the motley crew assembled there all stood, waiting to see who would greet them.

The Doctor approached them quickly and stood directly in front of B'Elanna, who looked as if her knees would give out at any second. iCheb stood close by, as if anticipating that very eventuality. Quite unable to hide his relieved smile, the Doctor finally said, "She's going to be fine, Lieutenant."

B'Elanna Torres' face-splitting grin defied description. In fact, had the engineering team been able to convert it to energy, _Voyager_ would have been able to return to the Alpha Quadrant in an instant, slipstream technology or not.

"Now her recovery isn't going to be an overnight thing," he counseled. "And she is going to have to spend some quality time in that alcove of hers to get her Borg systems back into peak condition, but she's going to be just fine." He reached out a photonic hand and placed it on B'Elanna's shoulder. "You may now visit the bride," he teased.

B'Elanna laughed before pulling the Doctor into a crushing hug. "Thank you," she whispered through tears of joy.

The Doctor returned the hug briefly then impatiently shooed her away. "Go, go! Before you warp my matrix or something!"

* * *

It was deep into night watch and Kathryn Janeway wearily approached the replicator in Sickbay.

"Coffee, hot," she ordered and the resultant hum and sparkle dutifully yielded her request. She took a sip of the welcome beverage and turned her gaze to the occupants of the room.

Various monitors beeped quietly as they kept vigil over Seven who still lay unmoving, her damaged body ensnared by a coma no doubt initiated by the Borg nanoprobes as they sought the most efficient means of facilitating their host's healing. Seven's features were peaceful, though, and her color was returning as her body began to replenish her blood supply. All in all, Kathryn thought she looked beautiful, particularly under the dimmed lights in the room.

B'Elanna Torres slept fitfully in the biobed nearest to Seven, thanks to a direct order Kathryn had had the foresight to issue only a few hours ago. B'Elanna had had even less rest than Seven had before the battle and yet she still insisted on being awake for when her wife came out of the coma, despite an almost crippling exhaustion. The auburn-haired woman smiled at the memory of the brief yet heated discussion on the matter. While Kathryn the starship captain could be most persuasive, the added advantage of Kathryn the surrogate mother could not be denied. B'Elanna finally capitulated and retreated into sleep.

Kathryn, herself, had escorted the children to Cargo Bay 2 shortly after they'd been allowed to see and visit with Seven. She happily oversaw them as they reluctantly but obediently entered regeneration in their alcoves and then she assigned Neelix to stay with them, not wanting them to find themselves alone when their cycles were complete.

She considered Mizati's earlier question and chuckled a little. Perhaps there was something to that designation of 'grandmother' after all, though Kathryn thought herself too young to be called by it. Not to mention the fact that neither Seven nor B'Elanna were her daughters.

A soft gasp shattered the stillness of the room and Kathryn instantly abandoned her cup of coffee and went to Seven's side. She reached for one of Seven's hands and took it between her own just as the young woman's eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of very blue, very confused eyes.

"Captain?" she rasped shakily, the dryness of her throat marring her usually melodic voice.

"Shhh…don't talk." The older woman reached for a container of water and helped Seven take a few small sips, supporting her as she tried to sit up a little.

"Lana?" gasped Seven when she was finished, falling heavily back onto the biobed. "B'Etal?" Her frantic eyes darted to and from Kathryn's.

"They're fine, darling," whispered Kathryn, a tender smile curling her mouth. "B'Etal is regenerating with iCheb and Mizati. And B'Elanna is right over there."

Seven followed her commanding officer's gaze to the slight form curled haphazardly across a nearby biobed, her brow ridges crinkling in mild frustration while she muttered something in her sleep.

A charmingly child-like smile transformed Seven's pale features in an instant.

"Is she not the most beautiful being you have ever seen, Captain?" she asked with all sincerity, her eyes merrily captivated by the sight of her wife.

"One of them," agreed Kathryn, gazing at the oblivious Seven of Nine. She leaned down and kissed the young woman on the forehead then closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the knowledge that Seven was safe. Afterwards, she stood and released Seven's hand. "And I think that regardless of the dream she might be having, B'Elanna would rather wake up and face reality."

She approached B'Elanna's bed from the opposite side and ran her fingers lightly over the young woman's faint brow-ridges.

"B'Elanna," she whispered, leaning down closer to the engineer. "B'Elanna, wake up, darling."

Sleepy chestnut eyes fluttered opened. "Wha—what is it?"

"Someone wants to see you," said Kathryn grinning.

A brief frown crossed B'Elanna's features. "Who?" she asked, wondering who could be so important that Kathryn would wake her—

Her head snapped to Seven's biobed.

"be'nalwI'?" B'Elanna seemed frozen in place by the smiling blue eyes that gazed back at her. But only for a moment.

She slipped off her bed like lightning and flew to Seven's side, caressing one alabaster cheek with aching tenderness.

"be'nalwI'?" she asked again, ignoring the single tear now making its way towards her jaw.

Seven nodded, smiling, and whispered simply, "I missed you, be'nalwI'IHqu'."

"Oh, Seven," breathed B'Elanna as she traced her lover's eyes and mouth with fluttering fingertips. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

She lowered her mouth to Seven's and kissed her.

Tenderly. Deeply. Endlessly.

And her blood sang with joy.

* * *

Kathryn Janeway stood by the viewport in her bedroom, watching the stars outside drift lazily past, smiling softly as she allowed herself to get lost in memory for a few precious and blissfully silent moments.

When the silence outlasted the memory, however, her smile faded a bit. She checked the chronometer on her wall and the smile disappeared completely, replaced by a slightly annoyed frown. She crossed to the small mirror near her closet and inspected her outfit for the fifth time, picking invisible pieces of lint from the emerald blouse and smoothing down her black cotton slacks.

Having spent all the time she reasonably could futzing with her appearance she sighed and marched over to her closed ensuite door.

"Seven? Is everything okay? You've been in there quite a while now."

"I am…adapting, Captain," came the muffled reply.

Janeway chuckled at Seven's uncertain tone.

"We're off duty, Seven. Call me 'Kathryn'."

There was a brief silence and Kathryn could almost imagine the blonde nodding in efficient assent.

"I appreciate your assistance with…this, Kathryn."

"You know I'm happy to help, but why didn't you just have B'Elanna take a look for you?" Kathryn had been more than surprised when Seven had approached her about this particular problem. She would have thought B'Elanna's input to be paramount in Seven's mind but the young woman had insisted on her help instead.

"I wanted to surprise her," said Seven softly and the tint of shyness in her declaration utterly charmed the captain. There was a long pause and then she added, "I'm coming out now."

Kathryn covered her mouth with one hand to stifle her amusement.

"All right."

The door of the captain's ensuite opened with a whoosh and Seven of Nine, ex-Borg drone, stepped hesitantly into her commanding officer's bedroom.

Kathryn Janeway gasped at the sight before her and Seven's pale eyes darted up from her averted gaze, filling with worry and embarrassment.

"Is it not appropriate?" she asked, coloring slightly. "Or is the garment not aesthetically pleasing?"

"It's _perfect_ , Seven!" exclaimed Kathryn, grinning madly as she grasped Seven's shoulders and spun the young woman around in a slow circle, wanting to see the whole outfit. "It's gorgeous!"

Seven smiled with relief as she nervously ran her hands down the front of the dress. It was a sleeveless cotton sundress in navy with white piping down the side seams, a white tie to lace up the back, and delicate white pearl buttons down the front. The five bottom buttons were left unfastened to allow for ease of movement and the tasteful display of Seven's beautiful legs. A pair of white strappy sandals and the young woman's long, free-flowing blonde tresses completed the ensemble.

"You look beautiful, darling," Kathryn assured her. "B'Elanna won't be able to take her eyes off of you."

"I asked the computer to assist with choices," Seven admitted. "I was not sure what appropriate attire for a picnic would be as at the last one I attended I wore one of my…biosuits." She said the last word with such distaste that it startled the captain.

"You say that as if you don't like them very much," noted Janeway, concerned.

"At first, it was not a matter of liking them or disliking them. They were efficient. However, as my time aboard Voyager increased I noticed that the biosuits inspired a diverse range of responses from the crew, from prurient interest to disapproval to overt negativity. I ignored such responses because they seemed irrelevant."

She looked away for a moment as a wave of delicate anguish washed over her features. "However, now that I am a wife and mother, I find those responses to be highly relevant. I do not want the crew to associate me with designations like 'Barbie Borg' and 'slut', nor do I want my children to hear me labeled as such. I do not wish to have anyone…leer at me. It is disrespectful…to me, to B'Elanna, and to our children."

Kathryn Janeway wanted to smack herself upside the head with one of Neelix's frying pans…whichever one was the heaviest. It had never occurred to her—not even once—that Seven's biosuits were more of a habit from her early days of individuality rather than a personal style choice. It had never occurred to her that the crew might be making inappropriate comments about the biosuits, either, though she conceded she probably should have known. After all, how many of her crewmembers wore what amounted to a second-skin as a uniform?

_Just the one, Katie. And you left her hanging in the wind_ , scolded her inner Phoebe.

Kathryn shook her head. "You and I are going to fix this tomorrow, Seven. Come to my ready room at 0900 and we'll discuss uniform options. In the meantime, have B'Elanna help you replicate a few items for off-duty. She'll know what to do." She paused for just a second before growling, "And recycle those damned suits. I never want to see you wearing one again. Am I understood?"

Seven blinked. Twice. "Yes, Captain."

"Good." Kathryn smiled and let her intensity relax a notch or two. "Shall we go to the picnic now?" She started out of her bedroom only to find herself gently restrained by Seven as the young blonde caught her elbow with one hand.

"Cap—Kathryn, I would like to speak with you for a moment."

Surprised but game, the auburn-haired woman gestured to the settee in the corner. "Would you like to sit down?" She found herself even more surprised when Seven sat without comment, her rigid back an unmistakable indication of her nervousness. She sat next to her cautiously, a frown stealing back onto her face.

"What is it, Seven?"

"Until recently, I have viewed certain emotionally-rich interpersonal relationships irrelevant, amongst them motherhood. It was B'Elanna who first taught me that regardless of my self-determined inability to be an adequate mother to any child, I was certainly exhibiting and enjoying that role with iCheb, Mizati, and B'Etal."

Seven took a small breath and looked straight ahead. "Since choosing a name for B'Etal, I have spent many hours contemplating my feelings about motherhood, including my deep insecurity surrounding my abilities in that regard. I had many reasons catalogued why I could not be a mother to my children, among them the fact that I did not bear them biologically and the fact that I had no practical, personal experience with motherhood due to the choices and failures of Erin Hansen."

Seven stopped there, trembling slightly, wondering whether or not she should continue. This conversation was new ground for her and as such, it was an emotional minefield she was unsure she could successfully navigate.

"Go on," encouraged Kathryn, laying a warm hand on a cool, pale arm.

"I now understand that I was wrong, Kathryn," Seven continued haltingly. "The accepted definition of a mother is _a female parent who provides a child with his or her primary sources of sustenance, shelter, protection, education, and love._ This definition itself challenges my beliefs regarding my lack of experience with motherhood. I do have that experience, but not because of Erin Hansen."

Seven sought Kathryn's gaze at that moment, turning sky-blue eyes towards the sea-blue ones of her mentor.

"My experience with motherhood comes from you, Kathryn, because it was you who gave me life…a life free of the Collective. You protected me when I was unable to protect myself, you gave me a home when I had none, you fed me, clothed me, taught me about Humanity and all that entails. And…I believe…I hope…you…loved me."

She timidly studied her hands resting in her lap and Kathryn reached out to brush a lock of hair from her eyes.

"Oh, Seven," said the older woman softly. "I still do!"

Seven's posture relaxed slightly. "Then may I have your permission—when we are off-duty—to call you…by a designation other than 'Kathryn'?"

Kathryn continued to stroke Seven's hair, looking at the young woman quizzically.

"What sort of designation, darling?"

Seven closed her eyes for just a moment and took a deep breath.

"I would like to call you…'Mother'."

With no response forthcoming, she anxiously looked up into Janeway's unreadable eyes, adding in a rush, "It is entirely your choice, of course, and it is not my intent to offend you or—"

A lightning quick and startlingly crushing embrace hushed Seven.

"Offend me? Darling, how could I possibly be offended—it would be an honor—any woman would be proud to— _of course_ you may call me 'Mother'!"

Relieved beyond the ability of expression, Seven clung to Kathryn Janeway, feeling a warmth and calm in her heart that filled her with happiness. After a few moments, she finally pulled back to look into Kathryn's eyes, finding them rimmed with tears.

"I feel this would be the appropriate moment for a 'smartass remark' to relieve the tension, but I can think of nothing to say that meets that criteria," remarked Seven, raising her ocular implant thoughtfully.

Kathryn laughed and released Seven, reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Well that was an acceptable substitute," she acknowledged, grinning.

"Even so, perhaps I should leave the 'smartass remarks' to B'Elanna," said Seven musingly. "She is quite proficient with them."

Kathryn laughed again and stood, reaching down to help Seven stand as well.

"She is that," she agreed, taking Seven's arm in her own and heading out of her bedroom towards her cabin's door.

"Perhaps she could give a class? I, for one, would attend."

Kathryn vigorously shook her head in the negative. "Oh no. No, no, no. I forbid it. I don't think my poor captain's heart could handle an entire crew spouting off like B'Elanna. You think she's bad now, you should have seen her in the beginning, when we first got stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant. Half the time I wondered if I should lock her in a class-4 probe casing and launch her into the nearest black hole."

At Seven's startled look, she added, "I could tell you some stories that would curl your hair."

Seven doubted the veracity of that statement but did not comment. Instead she said, "I look forward to hearing them, Mother."

Kathryn stopped and turned to Seven, her eyes misting up again. She gently cupped the young woman's face with one hand.

"It's going to take me a while to get used to that, you know," she said softly.

"You will adapt," replied Seven confidently, smiling.

Janeway stood there a moment longer and then patted Seven's cheek.

"We'd better get going to this picnic your wife put together or I have a feeling we'll both be getting an earful of B'Elanna's equally famous Klingon curses."

Seven nodded and led Kathryn into the hallway.

"She is proficient in those as well. However," she added, winking down at the older woman, "I am more so."

Kathryn laughed heartily all the way to the Holodeck.

* * *

Seven of Nine, former Tertiary Adjunct to the Unimatrix Zero One, had been told that she would be attending a 'small family picnic' to celebrate her imminent return to duty and the clean bill of health the Doctor had given her only two days ago. Based on that description she calculated that there would be ten or perhaps twelve attendees, duty shifts permitting. No more.

By the absolutely stunned look on her delicate features and her apparent inability to move, it was clear that she hadn't expected 48 of _Voyager_ 's finest to be occupying Wildman Park, the new name for Naomi Wildman's very popular Holodeck program. She watched—surprised down to her nanoprobes—as they all turned upon her arrival and began to applaud. And lest she suppose the applause was meant for someone else, several crewmembers shouted out greetings.

"Welcome back, Seven!"

"Way to go! Way to kick some Raadamani—er—rumpus!"

"Congratulations!"

"We missed you!"

Seven honestly had no idea what to do.

"You can smile at them, you know," said an amused voice in her ear. "They aren't going to bite you."

She turned to look into the laughing chocolate-colored eyes of her wife, physically unable to keep a brilliant and beautiful smile from stealing onto her features. B'Elanna Torres was wearing a pair of caramel linen clamdiggers and an almond-colored cotton tunic. She had B'Etal on her hip and a devilish twinkle in her eyes.

"Surprised?" she asked in a whisper.

Seven nodded. "Very. You said this was going to be a family picnic. I did not expect—"

"They are your family, Älskling," interrupted the young Klingon woman. "You said so yourself in the arena that day. Don't you remember?"

Seven turned to gaze at all the smiling faces, open to her for the first time, accepting, welcoming. It was not an eventuality she had considered when she created that ritual…and yet…

She glanced at B'Elanna again, watching with tender eyes as her wife tugged on the tiny sea-green sunbonnet B'Etal wore and tickled the little girl's belly, making her giggle.

Why hadn't she expected this reaction from the crew of _Voyager_? Hadn't she hoped for the same reaction from B'Elanna individually when she'd asked her for her help all those nights ago? Seven hadn't needed B'Elanna's engineering expertise with the Bassinet as much as she had needed a friend. And so she had opened up to her, hoping the young Klingon would open up in return. And she had, in so many more ways than Seven had originally thought possible.

Kathryn Janeway disrupted Seven's reverie by pressing a glass of what appeared to be lemonade into her hand.

"You looked like you could use a drink, darling," she said to Seven's questioning look.

"A toast," said Chakotay, raising his own glass. He glanced around as those with drinks lifted their glasses in the air, then he turned and smiled at Seven, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection.

"Health and happiness to you, Seven!"

Seven felt B'Elanna's hand at the small of her back and she took a moment to truly look at the faces surrounding her, reveling in the connection she felt to them all in this moment.

"And to my extended family," she smiled, raising her glass in turn. She took a sip of the pleasantly tart liquid amidst a chorus of agreement from various crewmembers. When the toast was finished, the crowd broke into smaller clusters and the buzz of several dozen conversations filled the air.

"By the way," said B'Elanna softly, seizing the moment. She leaned into Seven's side so that the taller woman could feel the unique heat of her body even more strongly. "That dress looks absolutely stunning on you, bangwI'."

Seven shuddered slightly as a wave of desire rolled over her. "Thank you," she breathed, enjoying the warmth and nearness of her wife more than she thought was necessarily appropriate in such a public setting.

B'Elanna leaned in even more closely until her mouth was next to Seven's right ear. "It's going to look even better on the floor next to our bed tonight," she growled throatily. Then she flicked her hot tongue out for just a second, licking the starburst implant just below Seven's ear.

The sudden explosion of shattered glass and lemonade startled everyone within a five-meter radius.

B'Elanna blinked twice at Seven's Borg-enhanced hand where the young Astrometrics officer held the remains of what had once been a perfectly lovely glass of lemonade. Her café-au-lait skin darkened considerably and she cleared her throat self-consciously.

"Oooops," she said.

Knowing laughter rang out across the meadow.

* * *

Seven spent the next two and a half hours doing something she had never successfully done before. She mingled.

It had not been as difficult a task as she had always believed it to be, although she attributed the majority of her success to a newfound ease of interaction with crewmates she had once deemed unapproachable.

For example, she was currently engaged in a lively conversation regarding the childhood escapades of several crewmembers, among them the Delaney sisters and Susan Nicoletti. She was also learning how to laugh.

"So we're in this boat on the lake near our grandparents' summer house and this is the first time Jenny and I have been allowed to go rowing by ourselves, so of course we think we're all that and a bag of Bolian Whyssa Rounds, right? So we're rowing along, minding our own business, when this fish—outta NOWHERE—just jumps into the boat. I guess he was trying to eat a bug or something and he ended up in the boat, I don't know. But the next thing I know, Jenny is screaming hysterically. She is so shocked that she throws herself out of the boat. Literally just LEAPS out of the boat." Most of Megan's audience dissolved into gales of laughter imagining a young Jenny Delaney in such a state. Even Seven chuckled slightly.

"So I try to get her back in the boat, you know?" continued Megan, her hands giddily flailing about as they assisted with the story. "But she won't get IN unless the fish gets OUT and I'm like, NO WAY! It was a pretty good-sized Rainbow trout and we'd caught it without even trying. I wanted to take it back to show my dad. We argue for ten minutes about the fish but she won't budge and neither will I. So I end up towing Jenny back to the dock while the fish flops around in the bottom of the boat. And I walk back to the house pulling a dripping wet sister along with one hand and carrying a still-struggling trout with the other. Of course the whole family was sitting out in the yard, talking. You shoulda seen their faces when I walked over to my dad, all puffed up and proud, and handed him the trout…" Megan took a deep breath.

"And you know what my dad said? He looked at the fish and then at Jenny and said, 'Did you use your sister as bait?'"

Seven's unrestrained laughter was joyous and addictive to all who witnessed it. Even Mizati couldn't help but giggle as she listened to it. She leaned her head on her mother's shoulder, content to be in Seven's lap, a place which she claimed as her own nearly every time her mother sat down.

Seven ran a hand through Mizati's long hair as her laughter eventually died away.

"I had not thought to use children as a means to catch amphibious lifeforms," she noted, winking at Megan Delaney conspiratorially. "Perhaps I should experiment with that method. Tell me, Megan, is Mizati of sufficient size to be used as bait?"

"Mama!" squealed Mizati, outraged by the very suggestion. Another round of hilarity immediately swept through the group of friends.

"Ladies," said Chakotay as he approached the group. He grinned seeing Seven having such a good time. "May I join you?"

"Certainly, Commander," invited Susan, gesturing to a chair. Chakotay waved the offer away and instead went over to where Seven and Mizati were sitting.

"The Lead Pair of Pod Boi-Ovani gave me something that I think belongs to you, Seven. They said they found it on the arena floor after…" He glanced uncertainly at Mizati, unsure how much he should say.

"After my mother severed the spinal column of that ghuy'cha' and Voyager beamed her to Sickbay?" asked Mizati innocently.

Chakotay paled slightly. "Well, yes…in a manner of…"

"Mizati Nueves," said Seven sternly, her eyes flashing with maternal ire. "That designation is not appropriate for use by a child of your age. Do not use it again. Do you understand?"

Mizati gulped, eyes round. "Yes, Mama. I'm sorry, Mama." She looked at Chakotay and the women seated behind him. "I apologize for any offense I may have caused."

Chakotay cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, what I was saying was they found this, Seven." He handed her a small square of reinforced paper. "I had the Doc clean it up for you."

Seven looked down at the card in the palm of her hand. It was the Queen of Hearts, the one Mizati had carried with her everyday before giving it to Seven as a reminder of those who 'required' her presence. She smiled at it briefly, noting again with wonder the additions of silver implants on the card's face and the love that it represented. Then she raised her eyes to the commander's.

"You are in error, Commander," she said. "This card belongs to Mizati. I was borrowing it when I…misplaced it." She handed it to the little girl in her lap.

Mizati looked at it for a long moment, her face drawn and unreadable. Then finally she turned her hazel eyes upward to meet Seven's pale blue gaze.

"You keep it, Mama," she said, laying it gently in her mother's hand. "I no longer require its presence as I have a real mama now."

* * *

Seven of Nine looked out over Wildman Park from her vantage point on a small hill underneath some apple trees. The picnic was still going strong as those crewmembers whose duty shifts had just ended came to replace those now leaving to get some sleep. She smiled, listening to snippets of conversations here and there, watching quietly as a warm plum and tangerine twilight descended over the meadow.

Some enterprising young officer or another had strategically placed some lanterns around the picnic area and those now lit the meadow with a gentle amber glow. Seven could see Naomi and Mizati chasing holographic fireflies in the distance, the air filling with their delighted laughter. Sam Wildman, Neelix, and Tom Paris all looked on, laughing with the girls and chatting amongst themselves.

iCheb seemed to be deep in conversation with a small group of ensigns and she smiled when the young man received a friendly 'chuck' on the arm from Ensign Kim. Kathryn Janeway moved easily from one cluster of officers to the next, enjoying the chance to connect with her beloved crew in such an informal setting. The joyous peals of her laughter sounded like bells to Seven.

"A latinum bar for your thoughts, be'nal," said B'Elanna softly.

Seven turned, a tender smile lighting her eyes with love. B'Elanna was curled up in the hammock with B'Etal, lit only by a small lantern in the apple tree overhead. Her beloved Klingon wife was giving B'Etal her evening bottle and the little girl was looking up at her with sleepy, devoted eyes. Then she reached up with one tiny hand and laid it gently on B'Elanna's cheek.

"I am thinking how lucky I am, my love," whispered Seven as she padded barefoot over to the hammock and climbed in with her wife and daughter. After a bit of rearranging she finally had the two of them where she wanted them: cradled in her long arms. She reached for the purple throw and draped it around the baby and Lana to keep the cool evening air from chilling them.

"We're both lucky, sweetheart," corrected the young engineer. "Look at everything we have." She leaned in and kissed Seven softly on the cheek.

Seven gazed at her with lapis eyes. "I never thought I would…fully understand my Humanity, my…individuality. Perhaps I never will. But I know one thing, B'Elanna."

"What, Älskling?"

"I am happy."

B'Elanna gasped a little, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh, Seven," she whispered, leaning in for a gentle kiss. "I'm happy, too. Happier than I've ever, ever been."

They shared another kiss and another before turning to gaze down at B'Etal, now sleeping contentedly in her mothers' arms.

A small breeze set the hammock swaying gently and the sounds of frogs and crickets waking to sing their evening songs now competed with the buzz of people laughing and talking below them in the meadow. Seven watched as B'Elanna leaned down to kiss B'Etal's head and the sight filled her with such a huge and aching love it made her tremble.

"B'Elanna," she began quietly. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Seven. You can ask me anything. You know that," she chided, grinning.

"Will you marry me?"

B'Elanna gaped at Seven with wide, stunned eyes.

"But we are—"

Seven shushed her wife with two gentle fingers placed over berry-stained lips.

"We are married, in our hearts, in our souls, and before Kahless. I know that." She looked down to the people gathered in the park, the people who had come to celebrate her return to health, her victory against those that would take her daughter, her happiness and her love.

"Does it not seem…selfish to let our joy go unshared with our family?"

Seven turned sapphire eyes to Lana's deep chestnut ones shining in the warm halo of light from their small lantern. She let pale fingers drift down a caramel-colored cheek.

"I want to stand with you before our children and our friends and promise to love you and honor you with all that I am, Lana. I want everyone to know what we share, that we have claimed each other as mates for life and beyond. I do not understand why I feel so strongly about this, but I do." She kissed B'Elanna tenderly then pulled back to gaze again into her eyes. "I want to marry you with our family nearby, B'Elanna."

She averted her eyes then as shyness overcame her.

"If…if you'll have me, that is."

B'Elanna Torres reached up and gently grasped Seven's chin, turning her back to look into her eyes.

"It would be my honor and my privilege to marry you, Annika Hansen, my sweet, beautiful wife. Wherever and however you wish," she breathed, leaning in to capture a pair of pale pink lips with her own, kissing Seven deeply and endlessly. When they parted, she added, "I would stand naked in a Ytrian slime pit and marry you in front of every last one of Neelix's cousins if that's what you wanted, Seven."

When Seven's ocular implant rose slightly in consideration of that scenario, B'Elanna lightly swatted her on the cheek and leveled a Force 10 glare at her lover.

"That was a joke, Seven. A joke! Do you hear me?"

Enchanting laughter, ethereal and winsome like the song of an ancient emerald sea, was her only reply.

_fin_

 

 


End file.
